It Couldn't Be!
by Pipshall
Summary: Chapters from the cutting room floor of 'Could This Be'  You need to read the story first for this to make any sense!
1. Chapter 1

Somewhere around Chapter 42

Ric leant his head back in the shower, the hot water running off his hair, down his back, reviving in the hot spray, feeling the power of the spray massage his aching muscles, soothe his tired body and exhausted mind. He barely knew which country or time zone he was in and his body was paying the price. The only way to keep on top of it was to keep going; if he stopped he knew he would fall down.

The band had been flown in by private jet overnight from Chicago, the potential of four Brits enough of a lure that EGA were willing to pull out the stops, throw money at them. But by the same token they were all expected to perform to their upmost limits. Even though they had arrived only that morning, they were taken straight to the auditorium to practice their routine for the show the next day, spent three hours there and only then were allowed some time to rest and recover.

He was staying in the hotel with the rest of the team. When the offer had been made, he had hesitated for a moment – go back to the flat, be around the spectre of Izzy, or stay in the relevant comfort and anonymity of a five star hotel. He only had to glance at the skinny girl clinging to his arm to make up his mind. There was no way he was letting Ellie anywhere near his flat; his old life.

So instead they got to share a room – a sumptuous one with a huge king sized bed, massive shower and a small living area. He tried to pretend that he wasn't impressed by the opulence but – hey, compared to what he had been used to, it was luxury - a sure sign that Cluinn were achieving.

Ellie had sprawled over the couch with an insolence born of familiarity, bemused as she watched him unpack, hang up and put away the few clothes he had bought with him. "We're only here for two nights, why bother?" She had asked as she watched him. He hadn't replied, just muttered about being hot and sweaty, wanted a shower; change clothes.

He really wasn't sure about this girl who seemed to have attached herself to him and the rest of the group. She had joined them every weekend of their US tour so far, in cities as diverse as Miami and New Orleans, the cost and inconvenience of flying around the states seemingly not a problem, often staying longer then the Saturday and Sunday. If he asked her about skipping lectures she simply shrugged.

Jim found her vaguely amusing, he could tell that her behaviour aggravated Sandy and Gus was simply contemptuous of her entirely. The rest of the band had all asked him the one question he could not answer. "Why?" Why indeed, he wasn't even sure himself. Loneliness mainly – it was better being with someone then no one; filled a gap in his life. A body in a bed and a pair of eyes searching for his in a seething crowd of people. He was surrounded by people almost all the time now and he had never felt so bloody lonely ever. Besides, Ellie was a bit like an itch – one that he had dared scratch for temporary relief and now it wouldn't go away, just kept itching more – almost impossible to ignore.

He pushed a hand through his hair, his fingers and ring getting tangled in its wet length. He was wondering if he should cut it again, but Dev had warned him about changing his look too much and on too regular a basis – Phantom had been a cleverly manufactured character and to give in to whims about his appearance would be to destroy the hard work that had gone into creating him. Fair enough, he thought as he tugged his hand free, noticing with a wince the small bundle of hair that came with it, caught up in the ring on his finger.

Three hours, he had three hours to himself; before they were all due to go to dinner at The Ivy. He had to laugh to himself – a few months ago he could barely afford to eat; now he was swanking around at the expense of EGA. He knew what he really wanted to do to pass the time, go and stand outside T&D offices, wait to see if Izzy would come out, speak to him. Despite the presents at Christmas she had not replied to a couple of emails he had sent, or acknowledged the text he pinged out to friends and acquaintances a few days ago about changing his email address, trying to stop the Spam that flooded his inbox.

Maybe Cheyne had disliked the note he had written her in hospital; objected to the fact that she was communicating with an ex – or possibly there was another reason, could she still be sick? Was what happened at Christmas the start of a bout of ill health? The thought of cancer welled up in the back of his head again and he quashed it down. There was no point fussing and worrying – if Izzy wanted to contact him she would. The best man won Stewart, he lectured himself. Give up gracefully and enjoy what you have.

He turned the shower off with a sigh, grabbed a towel and dried himself, draped it around his waist and went out the bathroom, wondering if Ellie would be there. She had become bored with the whole unpacking scenario, not wanting to hang around whilst he sorted the room out, showered and relaxed. Instead she had grabbed her purse and said she was going exploring, her personality needing constant stimulation and shopping seemed to be a mainstay activity. The hotel was in the centre of the West End and with no more then a wave of her hand she had disappeared.

But without the water hammering down, he could clearly hear her East Coast drawl, talking on the phone; probably to her parents or own of her many friends – gloating at the fact that she was in London for the Brits no doubt. She set great store my seeming to be top dog in her achievements and spent a lot of time making sure that all and sundry knew about them, through emails and Facebook.

"Sure," she was saying as he left the bathroom. "Now do you want to leave a message?" He frowned at her, realising that she was holding his mobile in her hands. He got really pissed off with the way she assumed she had rights over all his stuff; he had already told her how he felt about taking his calls.

"Ellie, what the hell are you doing on my phone?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"Right," she hesitated for a second and he briefly considered grabbing the handset from her, interrupting the conversation. But it wasn't worth it – probably just another lackey from EGA going over the same old set of details. "I will pass that message on, thanks for calling." She flung the phone onto the couch and turned to him, an over bright smile on her face – no doubt hiding the guilt. "Babe!" She greeted him with her usual nickname, not wanting as she claimed to refer to him either as Phantom or Ric at the wrong moment. Unfortunately her choice of endearment just set his teeth on edge.

"Ellie, I asked you not to answer my phone for me," he spoke calmly, didn't want her to flip off into a bad mood.

"Sorry Ricky, didn't want to disturb you in the shower. Besides it was just the usual, reconfirming already confirmed details, no message." He would have accepted her explanation, but suddenly he saw something flash through her eyes, her hands reach down and twist the edge of her t-shirt and he felt a chill slide down his spine. He had attended too many clients in custody, spent too many hours sitting on the back benches of law courts to not have seen people lying – and something made him think Ellie was. He reached over the sofa for his phone, wanting to see the number – suddenly desiring evidence – thinking like the lawyer he had been training as for so many years. His girlfriend suddenly walked up to him, brushing her hand across his chest, smiling up into his eyes. "I discovered Soho when I went shopping," she cooed with a grin.

"Oh," damn it, couldn't reach his phone. Shit, he decided, he was just being paranoid – Ellie had told him who had called and she was right – EGA were so determined to get this visit right that they were constantly being interrupted and told what their next set of plans were. He longed for the frenetic organisation of the tour and Pete's strident overtones exhorting, cajoling and bullying everyone into achievement instead. He refocused his attention. "And did you like it?"

"Oh yeah, very interesting," the smile on her face had a predatory set about it and he shivered as she ran her small hands up and down his chest, the action tickling him. "Lots of cool shops!"

"Really!" He caught onto her meaning and with a glance over his shoulder noticed the plain plastic carrier next to the bed; the direction she was currently cajoling him in. One thing he could say about his girlfriend, she sure wasn't subtle.

* * *

"That went down well," Angus remarked quietly as they climbed into the luxurious people carrier sitting outside the radio station, waving at the screaming fans standing outside one last time. They had just finished a live performance that morning, more promotion in the run up to the evening, ride the crest of the wave of popularity that Cluinn was on. They had been nominated for the most Brits that year and as a result were in huge demand by interviewers – they had only agreed to the one however, not having time to fulfil all the commitments that people requested.

"You came into the bridge half a beat late Tom," Sandy commented as they relaxed back and the car pulled away. "Seemed distracted. " Ric didn't answer but let out a huge yawn – god he needed some sleep or he would crash face down in his food tonight. Ellie hadn't let him get much shut eye the night before.

As he had suspected the carrier by the bed yesterday had held certain sexual toys – Soho being known for its seedier side and Ellie had proceeded to entertain and amuse him with her most recent set of purchases. Young enough to still enjoy experimenting, she had obviously been on the game longer then legally allowed. Ric found himself putty in her hands - sleep had been scarce and he was paying the price for it today.

"Aw tired, didn't sleep well last night," he muttered as an excuse, rubbing his hand across his cheek, feeling the light hair re-growth. He needed to shave again tonight – getting adhesive stuck in his stubble was really painful!

"Too busy shagging were you? Where is she anyway?" Angus asked, although the question held more of a sneer then a query.

"Oh um shopping, for something to wear tonight I think." He shrugged, it seemed inconsequential. "But she did say she would meet us at this fitting." They were being ferried back and forth across London, the suits that had been handmade for them now finished and one final trying on was to take place before they all had a couple of hours to chill out and get ready for the evening event.

"Maybe she can buy herself a new boyfriend then," Gus retorted snidely. "Someone more suited to her level of intellect – or maybe a dog would be a better option."

"Angus!" Richard couldn't believe the vitriol coming out of his friend's mouth. Okay he didn't like the girl, but what he was saying was nothing short of slanderous. "Shut the fuck up, right now." To his left Jim snorted, obviously amused by the brewing argument, Ric noticed. He didn't comment further, for at the end of the day he would have defended anyone who was referred to in such a negative way, even if secretly; very secretly he agreed. Instead he leant back against the head rest, closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep – didn't want to be here, didn't want to handle this and to ignore it seemed the best way forward for the moment.

* * *

She had chosen an expensive looking dress in silk, the neckline plunging down, exposing cleavage. It was unsubtle and on the right person could have had a glamorous look, but didn't suit her gawky frame; it needed more curves, not the childlike proportions of her body. He simply raised an eyebrow and gave a nod when she showed it off, aware that she simply wanted his praise more then an actual opinion.

Once again the full day left them with little time to relax and prepare and he once again headed straight for the shower as soon as they got back to the hotel room, noting with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment that the housekeeping had cleaned up the mess they had left the room in. That morning he had fallen out of bed, noticing with a wince of Catholic guilt the rumpled sheets and abandoned tissues containing used condoms. Ellie had been demanding last night, turning him on with all forms of sexual tricks, ones that didn't sit that well with his strict upbringing. But once again it was the clash of the image created for him with the person he really was. Phantom was a rock musician; a typical tattooed bad boy, therefore he must enjoy interesting and unusual sexual games. In truth, rather like the groupie in the coach, they left him cold – his body might respond – hey he was a hot blooded male after all, his mind; well his mind was in a bed in Kensington having silly passionate sex with the girl he used to share it with.

He was in the shower when he heard his phone ring. No mistaking it, the ringtone was a bit of Mozart's requiem. He had only changed it a few weeks ago and there was no way Ellie would play such music. She wasn't into classical, couldn't understand his love of choral pieces. He hadn't told her that he used to be a choirboy, performed much of what he listened to. Even now he could close his eyes, see his music teacher conducting and directing – telling them when to breathe, how long to hold a note for. It had been a strict regime they had to perform to, good groundwork for the effort he now had to put into the Cluinn concerts.

And then the music switched off abruptly, the tune cut off mid-chord, except he found himself humming along anyway, finishing the piece of music. With weary limbs he dried himself and wrapping the complimentary robe around his tired body he walked out the shower. Ellie was sitting on the sofa, absorbed in her magazine.

"Who was on the phone?"

"Huh?" She looked up with a startled gaze. "What?"

"My phone, I heard it ring – did you get it?"

"Oh, no babe – sorry. Did wonder what that music was though. I don't know where it is?" Ric looked around him, unable to place it, slight panic rising in him – he couldn't loose his phone. "Why not call it and then you can see, here.." She grabbed her mobile before he could stop her and rang his number, his iPhone lighting up and trilling its tune from the pocket of his jacket that was slung over the back of the chair, only a few hands away from where Ellie sat.

"Damn," he grabbed the phone and switched it off, realising that his girlfriends number was now registered as the last incoming call, whoever had been trying to get hold of him no longer had a record, unless they left a message. He sighed and dropped the phone down on the table, there was no point in worrying, if someone wanted to get hold of him that badly they would try again. "I'm gonna' lie down for a bit – really tired," he said with an exaggerated stretch, glancing down at his girlfriend who was looking at him intently.

"Oh well, let me join you – feeling tired myself," she stood up with a smile.

"No Ellie, I mean it – I need to sleep, it's going to be a long evening and we have an early flight tomorrow and are back in the studio the same day. Just let me be alone for a bit!" She pouted at his request and he felt his anger rise. "No Ellie, be adult about it just this once. I need to sleep!" He repeated the words slowly, as if she hadn't heard the first time. "Now just give me some space and peace for once!"

The message must have finally sunk into her brain for he had an hour and a half of delicious uninterrupted shuteye, his dreams taking him back to a time and a place when he felt happy, safe and secure. He woke with a start, looking around him in a panic, trying to locate Izzy – for his dreams had placed her next to his side.

"Hey," the American accent made him look up, saw Ellie elaborately made up, a dressing robe wrapped around her skinny frame. "Good to see you are awake, the car leaves in half an hour and whilst you don't take as much time to get ready as us girls." She shrugged with a slight smile and he beamed dopily back at her, still half asleep, his dreams putting him into a good mood.

"Thanks for the time warning." He swung his legs off the bed, stood up and stretched, feeling more energised then he had in a while. Time to go and get dressed in the expensive tailored suit, time to play at being the Phantom. Time to hopefully have some payback for the hard work he had put in, trying to make Cluinn a success.

It seemed the great British public were behind them however, for when he stepped out of the limo, onto the acres of red carpet, the cheer that went up from the crowds nearly defened him. The flash of bulbs momentarily startled his gaze and Ellie took the opportunity to slip her arm around his waist, the photo no doubt would be reproduced all over the world within hours – she had stalked her claim, he had let her. He had to admit that dressed to the nines, he body poured into the silk dress it took on a life of its own, her small skinny body suddenly maturing into a woman's, aided by a sophisticated hairstyle and makeup. As she squeezed his waist he looked down, flashed her a smile, suddenly glad he didn't have to face this crowd alone. And then she was led away by Dev, along with Alanya – he and Jim left to face the cameras and questions of the interviewers.

The evening passed in a blur, aided by exceedingly fine wine and some not bad food, although nerves suddenly twisted his gut, making him unable to eat. Ellie sat next to him, smiling and cooing away and he nodded at the right times, when in truth he was hardly able to focus on what she was saying. He hadn't realised he was so worked up about this awards, didn't think that he cared as much as he obviously did.

In the end they won three and he believed that he managed to hold himself together enough to make a decent speech, the other guys pushing him forwards to the microphone. He knew that Ellie wanted acknowledgment, love and thanks declared in front of the thousands if not the millions who were watching, but he couldn't do it, couldn't say it. So he reeled off the usual list of suspects before his gaze focused on Alanya, two chairs away from his girlfriend – she would understand the hidden meaning. "To all the friends and family who have been with us in the long run and especially to the women who supported us through these last crazy two years – we love you!" What more could he say? Hopefully if his ex was watching she would catch the hidden meaning.

And then when the meal had been cleared away, when he didn't think he could drink another sip they were led backstage; changed their clothes and got ready to wow the audience. He went into automatic pilot, let instinct take over, couldn't concentrate on the here and now. Thankfully the roar from the crowd told him it was a success and he could tell that everyone was standing and clapping, glitter pouring from the ceiling. Ellie reached over and hugged and kissed him, the smile on her face echoing the rest of the band – damn it must have been good.

They had done it, they had achieved. Three Brits, an outstanding performance on live television. So why, why did he feel so down and alone?


	2. Alanya & Jim's Wedding

**This was a chapter of total indulgence - which is why it didn't make the final cut. I was very aware of having Ric moping around - could have been a bit boring and we needed to know how Izzy was coping at the time. But it was still begging to me written so here you go... enjoy.**

**Somewhere around Chapter 43**

Ric fell back onto the flat cushions of the sofa, the air whooshing out with a small 'wumph' of noise. He lay back, waving his hand in front of his face, trying to clear the air, the place needed a damn good dusting – he didn't think anyone had even been here since they had all left for the States in January. As the dust cleared he propped himself up on his elbows took a look around and cocked an ear, made he sure he was completely alone before he reached up and pulled the light rubber prosthetic off his face, dropping it onto the floor next to him.

He had retreated to the stables at Granthorn, needing some peace and quiet, away from the floods of people that filled the house from top to bottom. For the first time in probably decades the servant's halls were crammed with people, the drawing rooms crammed with friends and family, the bedrooms crammed to the rafters. Despite a warm welcome from his friend's parents and the allocation of his 'usual' room, there was just too much hustle and bustle filling the historic house.

It was the wedding of the youngest son of the Marquis and Marchioness of Granthorn to his long term girlfriend, the well known model, Alanya Palmer. Of course Richard was a guest at the wedding, apart from the fact that he was an old and good friend of the family, he was also the Best Man. It had meant that he had been responsible for making sure the groom had a stag's night to remember – New York had provided the perfect location and he wouldn't forget that evening in a hurry, even if he never wanted to suffer a hangover like that again.

But now the wedding was only two days away, the house had been scrubbed to perfection, repairs carried out, bedecked in flowers. A huge marquee had been erected in the grounds to hold the two hundred plus guests honoured enough to receive an invitation and there was simply no space or time for anyone who didn't want to get involved in wedding preparation and talk. That was why he had beaten a hasty retreat to the stables – the one place he could lay claim to on the estate.

It had a neglected air about it, last time it had been occupied it was January, before they went on their US tour – that was four months ago – it was late April now, nearly May – only a week until the second album was released and three weeks until their world tour kicked off in New Zealand and Cluinn went around the world for six months.

Catharsis – that was the name they had chosen for the album – the purging of emotions. Despite the fact that he had attempted not to write sappy love songs, the tracks that ended up being chosen all contained his attempt at self-purging, removing the dying traces of a heart from his body. Ric the boyfriend no longer existed; there was only Phantom, the rock star with the impossibly young and glamorous girlfriend Eloise.

He had inhabited the role so successfully now and in front of so many journalists and DJs that it was strange to come back to Scotland, to see his Grandparents, to be Richard the grandson again. He had spent the week over Easter in their house and for most of it had felt like a stranger going through the actions. Sure he had carried out the role with aplomb, smiling and laughing at the light conversation; providing amusing stories when necessary, even helping dismantle his old bedroom and refit it as a study with a computer so that his Grandparent's could Skype him as he went around the world. But he couldn't sit down with his Grandmother and talk about his new girlfriend, wouldn't even let her come back with him to Scotland despite the pleading and tantrums she subjected him to, changed topic whenever his Grandfather bought it up and left to come to the wedding with a strange sense of relief that he didn't want to analyse.

Instead he lay on the sofa, glancing around the room, idly tapping a tune out with his hand, glad he was alone as he hummed it under his breath; closed his eyes, pretended that he was satisfied and grounded. In truth he was anything but – there was too much wedding talk going around, the focus was on love; happiness and a bright future and those were three things he didn't feel like he had in great abundance at the moment. There wasn't a future with Ellie, he knew it – had tried to unsuccessfully break up with her before he came back to Scotland, not that she let him, she had sunk her teeth in and refused to let go, had even flunked her degree to travel around with them.

He had let rip when he had found out about that, shocked and angered by her laissez faire attitude to her education. "What the fuck did you do that for?" he had demanded when she had told him, the pride on her face clearly showing what she thought of her actions. They were on the tour bus again, travelling across several states on their wide never ending interstate highways, miles of tarmac and flat fields.

"Because it means we can be together Tom," she said her face falling as he said nothing; just fixed her with a hard stare, grinding his jaw together trying to consider what to say.

"Can you get back in, go and tell your college you made a mistake?" He spoke tonelessly, formally and swore when she shook her head.

"Nope, don't have enough credits for last term as it is. What does it matter anyway? We are going to tour the world; the whole world – how amazing is that!"

"Huh," was his response which baffled her, for she glanced over at the other band members sitting around on the lower deck sofas, pretending to be interested in their own thing, but he could tell hanging on every word, no doubt excited by the possibility of a change in their routine. Most of the time they couldn't be bothered with his girlfriend's constant need for attention, but it was obvious an argument was brewing.

"Seriously Tom, I've always wanted to travel, see everything – you know; this is so great. I mean college," she shrugged. "It's not like I was even that good at it you know."

"That's not the point Eloise," he wailed into the artificial silence in the bus. "You are an immature little brat for thinking that. Education is everything, without it there are no possibilities - no future. What the fuck are you going to do with your life once you have 'seen the world? It will still be there and you will still have no education – and then what the shit are you going to do?" She looked at him, startled by his outburst before anger drew her gamine face in, hardening it.

"I'll survive, I'm sure – I mean you seem to manage pretty well yourself – what did you even manage to finish high school or whatever they call it over in Scotland?" She sneered the last remark and he would have laughed if he could have found the energy.

"You are stupid to quit school," he said with finality, grabbing a magazine from the sofa and storming off upstairs to go and lie on his bunk – he really didn't need this, not now." He closed his eyes, unable to sit up in the narrow space, barely enough to hold the magazine up so he could read it – not the most comfortable place to go, but just about the last one left with any privacy in this hell on wheels that had been their home for the past two months.

"He graduated High School," Ric heard Angus' voice drift up the stairwell from the lower deck and he pricked up his ears, wondering if his friend was going to set the record straight.

"And so what, he deserves a medal because he got some diploma?" He could hear the immature sarcasm in Ellie's voice, no doubt hurting over his vicious attack. But he was so angry, not only at the fact that she had removed the one remaining obstacle in continuing their relationship once their US tour had finished, but even more so that she felt it was fine to chuck away a year and a half of her college degree, it didn't matter, Daddy would; as always, bail her out.

"We call them Highers in Scotland and yeah he passed, and then went and got a music degree – with a first!"

"Oh," her voice was smaller as Angus made the correction, although he could hear in his friend's voice the note of taunting, the enjoyment in destroying her misconceptions. "I guess that's pretty good?"

"Yeah, it is. And then he went and got a second degree in law, with another first!"

"Oh, shit – really? Was he like gonna' become a lawyer or something?" Angus didn't answer but continued.

"And then he has just finished a Masters degree as well. Think he might stop at that for a while, but you know he was talking about doing a PhD the other day, although it might be a bit hard as we are touring."

"Right!" Her voice became small and quiet after that and she fell into silence. Ric chuckled to himself as he recalled the memory. She had come to him that night, asked about his education, tried to get him to talk a bit more about himself, although he had refused. With hindsight it was the start of the huge window rattling argument that had led up to him not bringing her back to Scotland for the wedding – not that he had ever had any intention of doing so.

She disturbed his balance of life, chipped away at the foundations of almost everything he believed in, mainly because it was so far removed from what she believed he should act and feel. She had complained on more then one occasion at the simple choices he made so far removed from the preconceptions she had. She always pushed him to go out, drink, and indulge in the endless partying that seemed to fill the venues that they played. It was exhausting and eventually after several weeks so soul destroying that he could barely find the energy to participate. In Ellie's book there was no such thing as a quiet night in.

And so they had finished the tour more popular, wealthier with 'In the Beginning' clocking up sales of eight million worldwide and soul weary – not a good place to be considering they was only a month's recovery before they set off around the world. He was due back down in London in a couple of days to help make sure that all the equipment was shipped off before travelling to Australia himself. Ellie had said she would meet him over there.

His few hard sought moments of peace were interrupted as the wooden slamming of the door alerted him to the fact that someone else had entered the building. He scrabbled at the side of the sofa for his mask, not wanting an errant wedding guest or one of the many employees of the catering company to catch him unawares. "Ric," he stopped at the sound of the feminine tones. "Ric?"

"Yeah." He paused and pushed himself up, swinging his legs down off the cushions. "I'm in here Laney!" No point in putting on the mask, Laney knew what lay behind it.

"I guessed as much when I couldn't find you in the house. What are you skulking out here for? Or are you playing some music or something?" She walked into the room, her face alight with a wide smile as she took in his long form draped across the sagging cushions. "Hello darling! Long time, no see." He pushed himself off the sofa and wrapped his arms around her in a hug, astounded as he always was after a period of absence; by her stunning beauty.

"Hello Lady James, how's it going?"

"I can't call myself that yet – if I will at all!" She warned, flopping onto the sofa, the same effect as Ric had earlier releasing a waft of dust and a coughing fit in the beautiful woman, so that her face turned red. By the time she had finished her hair was mussed and her eyes watered, making her mascara run. "Oh help," she breathed, accepting the glass of water Ric thrust at her with an eyebrow cocked in worry. He gingerly sat down next to her, not wanting to release more dust.

"You okay now?" She nodded and sipped her water.

"But you haven't answered my question – what are you doing out here? Everyone is inside and lunch is being served, just a buffet but..." Ric waved her away with an impatient hand.

"I'm not in the mood for too much company Laney, especially wedding talk – it can get on your nerves after a while."

"Yeah," she agreed with a laugh. "Although I don't recommend a year of it, if a couple of hours have driven you mad. I don't know Ric, I hadn't planned on having a three ringed circus for a wedding, but it somehow has just happened. All the friends and family of Jim and then all those from my circle I didn't want to, or didn't dare snub and then suddenly all the people you guys are becoming friendly with and suddenly my dreams of a country wedding and an informal venue have turned into a PR event worthy of, I don't know – someone famous!" She sighed.

"You are famous Alanya – didn't you once tell me that achieving the cover of Vogue meant you had succeeded? 'Cause I could have sworn it was you staring back at me on the magazine rack at the airport!"

"I guess." A small smile twisted her mouth before she sighed. "You're right as always Ric, although it is amazing how suddenly being the girlfriend of Cluinn's lead guitarist has made me the flavour of the month. You guys are rising and rising and I am being dragged along with you. I haven't actually had to attend a casting in the past six months, instead everyone is phoning up the agency and requesting me – I've never had that before. But now I am the girlfriend of the Brit winning band."

"Yeah and you bring glamour to us hairy bunch of musicians, works both ways sweetheart." He hefted a sigh. "So is there anyone I had better not snub tomorrow when I make my speech?"

"Oh, I don't know; just about everyone." She sighed again. "Actually that is one reason I came looking for you."

"Yeah!" He filled the word with the suspicion he felt. Whilst it was easy talking to Alanya, he didn't think she had sought him out in the dusty barn simply for company. She gave a weak smile as she heard the tone.

"Okay, I do have a huge favour to ask." She smiled sweetly as if it would remove the sting. "We are having a Ceilidh for the dancing, which is going to be fun – but there are so many people now and such a cross section of ages and backgrounds that, I just would quite like something more...young, a bit more user friendly and not so Scottish." She paused and cast him an oblique glance that made him shudder slightly. He knew without a doubt what she wanted, but experience made him ask.

"What do you mean Alanya, spell it out for me?"

"D'you think you could do a bit of a set – without Jim obviously, I mean you can play the guitar as well can't you? It would just be really great if you would?" Ric looked at the pleading in her face, reminded of another woman, another plea for the band to play an event before shaking his head – no there was no point in thinking about that.

"How long Laney?" He asked resting his face in his face, his words muffled against his palm. "An hour, one and a half? Any particular songs?"

"That means yes, right?"

"Can I call it your wedding present?" So threw her arms around him hugging him tight.

"God I love you nearly as much as my husband to be. You are the best Ric and I promise I appreciate it so much, means it won't be quite the dire formal wedding that it seems to be. And I promise that the magazine shots will be kept to the minimum."

"Magazine shots?" He looked up at that word and frowned at her. "What magazine Laney?" She shrugged again, a delicate light motion that might have made him smile if he wasn't worried about what she said.

"Hello Magazine; they are doing an article. They offered such a stupid amount of money, it is enough to reroof the whole house, and how could we say no to that? I did ask Jim to tell you."

"Apparently he forgot." He hefted a sigh, realising that tomorrow was not going to be the fun and relaxed day he had hoped for, when he could enjoy the spectacle of his two close friends finally getting married. Instead it was going to be as much work as being on tour, it also meant he was going to have to be there as Phantom, not as himself.

"Please don't be pissed off Ric, please. I know you don't want the whole spectacle thing, but it, well – c'est la vie."

"C'est celebre, more like it Laney. Being famous," he translated for her when he saw the shadow of confusion on her face. "Darling your husband is half French; don't you think you need to start learning the lingo finally? I thought you would have picked some up on your travels." She pulled a face.

"No, it all just still washes over me. Besides you know Marie is happy to speak English, she thinks and acts like a good Scottish wife even if she was born over the channel. And she expects me to do the same – I have already been asked when I plan to give up the modelling and add yet more children to the family – you'd think nine grandchildren are enough to keep them on their toes." She gave a harsh little laugh. "Oh listen to me, sounding so bitter and annoyed – just wedding jitters that's all. Now come on, stop being anti-social and come and eat something and meet a few people – Johnnie is there, Ewan as well and Gus is due any time soon."

"Okay Laney," he levered himself off the sofa, held out his arm and pulled her up, before retrieving his prosthetic off the floor. He glanced at the inside, the fine film of dust that peppered the adhesive on the inside. No point in trying to get it stuck on without cleaning it he thought, rolling it up and stuffing it in his back pocket. "I'm just going to have to slip upstairs." And then wrapping his arm around his friend he walked back to the house, ignoring all the thoughts rolling in his mind.

* * *

The weather played ball the next day and the sky was deep blue with puffy white clouds rolling over the estate lands. There was a buzz running through the house from the early morning as people scuttled about, finishing all the last minute chores, Ric watched them from the window, holding the heavy curtains back so a shaft of light speared into the dark room and over his sleeping roommate.

"Fuck, what time is it?" Gus reared up from his bed, clutching his head.

"Nine! How's the hangover?" Jim had kept them up last night, drinking and talking – enjoying his last night of freedom as he called it.

"Could be worse, I stopped at the right time I think." He coughed slightly, rolled over onto his side and pulled the pillow back over his head. "What time does it all start again?"

"Wedding is at two – but Gus, remember what I told you last night. Need a quick run through mate!" He watched as his bass guitarist pulled the pillow back off his head and looked at him again with a pained expression.

"Deep joy – can't believe you managed to let Laney talk you into that." Ric shrugged in reply – in the light of a new morning the idea seemed even less appealing then the day before, but he had promised and at least it meant he wouldn't be there standing on the sidelines, pretending to enjoy himself – instead he could hide behind the persona of the Phantom and demand the usual respect and attention.

"Can't get out of it now." He turned, let the drapes fall aside and went and switched on the light. "Wanna' do 'Forever' – with the lyrics that Jim wrote – think that would be really good to open with." He watched Angus' face; relieved when he nodded. "Sands is getting here about ten. I had better go and wake Prince Charming and then we can bugger off down the stables and have a quick run through." He didn't wait for his friend's reply but went through the adjoining door to Jim's room next door, stopping in surprise. He had expected to see Jim still in bed, the room its usual pit of indulgence, instead the bed was neatly made, curtains drawn back allowing the light to flood in – just no sign of the groom – except for the open window.

He leant his head out of the casement, looking to the left and right, before he saw his best friend, sitting on the usual perch, ignoring the ground breaking fall beneath him. This was his normal escape, where the unusual roof pitch had formed a small balcony, accessible from the corner bedroom window – Ric had joined him for many a illegal joint or a sneaky drink when they were teenagers and Hanty's watchful eye meant they couldn't do it downstairs.

"Hey Jim." He climbed out the window, edged along the small lead lined walkway for a step and onto the wider roof. "How's it going?"

"Brilliant mate, having a fucking fantastic view of all that's going on and not being bothered by any of it!" Jim turned with a smile and looked at him, his usual cigarette smoking between his fingers an open bottle of champagne at his feet. "You just got up?" Ric shrugged in agreement, gave a slight smile.

"Yeah. Listen, Gus and I have some stuff to do this morning. Official photos are at one and then we've just gotta' get over the church. You be okay by yourself this morning?"

"Sure man, better finish packing for the honeymoon and all and the tour," he shrugged and swigged from the bottle, passing it over to Ric. "I think Laney is pissed off, you know, about cutting the honeymoon short and going straight into the tour, she says she isn't but you know, she gets that look. Listen, really need to show her how loved up I am – just wondering if we could maybe get 'Forever' played somehow. We've got it down, so maybe..." He paused and looked at Ric. "I mean, I know you didn't want to play, know you wanted to keep Cluinn away from this day and all, but it would mean a lot to me and Laney and could be a laugh." Ric had to stop the smile that tugged at his mouth.

"I got a copy that we can plug in and get over the speakers. You sure?" He took the bottle and drained a dreg from it, trying to ignore the mind blowing fact that he was standing on the roof of a country house, swigging champagne out the bottle.

"Yeah – I mean god would love to play a set, really pissed that this whole day is so formal, but you know Mater has gone all out on me. Did I tell you they've done a photo deal?"

"Laney did! You sure it isn't breaching EGA contract."

"Na, it's 'Hello' magazine, they do this all the time. And it means Pater can get the roof fixed," Jim kicked at a loose edge on the sheet of lead they stood on. "And maybe even get the damp in the east wing looked at. You know, they offered three million for the shoot – how can you turn that down?" Ric shrugged at the comment, it was out of his hands and frankly he just wanted the wedding over and done with.

"Okay well look, see you later – suited and booted by twelve okay?" He warned his friend, knowing that he was abandoning him for the morning, but heck – he seriously needed to get a practice in now. Jim saluted him idly before he turned and climbed back through the window.

Thankfully the run through worked well and whilst he knew that this guitar playing lacked the pure musical edge of genius that Jim bought to the tracks, he knew that it worked fine, his talent was in playing rhythm guitar, not the flourishes and riffs that his friend was becoming famous for – but he doubted the guests who would be well into their drinks by the time they hit the small makeshift stage, would notice anything different – it was just his slightly obsessive attention to detail that bought it to his attention.

Instead he managed to get back to his room without too much hassle, change into the formal kilt and jacket that the wedding party men were wearing. He had treated himself to a new jacket, his gym honed body now too big to fit into the old suit that had seen him through university and his twenties – not that he wore it much, it didn't fit in with his image, he wasn't one of the rugby boys, wandering around in a kilt and sports strip shirt, flashing anyone who was naive or interested enough to ask if you went commando under the kilt. He had always favoured black, the rock and roll style of dressing and it seemed slightly strange to kick off his well worn jeans, trainers and t-shirts and get all dolled up.

Finally having managed to tie his bowtie, neatly tie back his hair and lace his shoes he stood in front of the mirror and took a good hard look at himself. He looked – Scottish – a well kempt twenty something man, desirable catch, graduate with a law degree. He then lent over to the bedside table and picked up the mask he had stuck adhesive to a few minutes earlier and pressed it to his freshly shaved face, were it stuck as a black mass, splitting his face in half. No longer the sober dressed lawyer, he was now a strange dichotomy, half the person he was and half this strange rock star called Phantom. Shit, he barely even knew anymore – how could anyone else?

He didn't bother knocking this time but went straight through to his friend's room, reassured by his earlier behaviour that Jim would be fine. He was sitting on the windowsill, a lighted spliff in his hand, blowing the smoke out the window as he watched the line of cars snake up the driveway. "Minutes to go Jimmy, you ready?"

"Totally mate, just need to face the cameras for a couple of photos. They've been all over Alanya this morning, I just saw Claire and she said it was a bit intense." He turned and took Ric in his gaze. "Well, doesn't Phantom clean up well!" He smirked slightly. "Maybe you should wear a kilt on stage."

"Fuck off!" Ric said amiably, knowing that a friend was trying to get a rise out of him. He plucked the smoldering joint out of his hand and took a drag, blowing the smoke out of the window before grinding it out on the centuries old stone ledge. "Come on then my Lord, time is ticking by." He made a move to lead out the door, use to being the first in line, but was stopped as he felt a hand grasp his arm.

"Ric," Jim's voice was softer, gentle and it made him stop, turn. "Listen, I just wanted to say thanks mate, for agreeing to do this and all. I know it can't be easy, seeing me happy and I guess it reminds you of ...of Izzy, but I am glad you are here and stopping me from running away and all – it means a lot." Ric smiled, hoping it wasn't too bitter – Jim had hit the nail on the head, unusual; that was usually Angus' way.

"Yeah, well it means a lot that you asked me, especially considering the size of your family. But I would be remiss if I didn't tell you to get your arse in gear and head over to the chapel, so let's split." He paused and gestured for Jim to go forward – it was his turn to lead today.

* * *

The crowd of people were quite drunk by the time they hit the stage. There had been the formal wedding breakfast for over two hundred and he thought his speech went down pretty well; there had been enough titters from the assembled crowd, even if he was aware of the photographer and crew filming every moment – it seemed so impersonal. But now that the formal Scottish dances had come to an end, the older people were kissing cheeks and starting to drift off he escaped for a few moments, changed his formal shirt and coat for a t-shirt and his ghillie brogues for more typical black boots.

He, Gus and Sandy slipped onto the platform in the darkness, no stage techs to help them sort everything out, no one to hand him his guitar tuned and ready – it was a bit like the days of playing in the pubs and clubs of Edinburgh. They simply bashed out the opening to 'The Moment', the high pitched intro grabbing the attention of the crowd as they turned almost as one towards the small stage, the music deafening in such a confined space.

Alanya and Jim pushed their way to the front, Jim shouting and pointing a finger at his friends, although with the playback in his ears, Ric couldn't make out what he was saying. He guessed by the smile it was sarcastic. They ran right through the song before he paused and spoke into the mike.

"Hey everybody, I am sure you were wondering if we would put in an appearance and here you go, didn't pay us enough to stay away and quiet!" The gentle laughter filled the room, they were an easy audience, this was an added bonus to their evening. "The main reason we are here is that Jim and I wrote this little piece of music and I can't take a single ounce of credit for the lyrics because they were all written by Jim for his beautiful wife here!" He paused at the cheers and wolf whistles. "Anyway, Laney this is for you – from your husband – and the rest of us. Forever and Always!" He turned slightly, nodded towards Sandy and launched into the song, watching as he sung; at his two friend's reaction.

Alanya had thrown her arms around Jim, kissing him, laughing at the same time, bashing her beautifully made up head to the music, the guests also getting into the mood, the dance floor in front of them turning into a strange sort of mosh pit, only the people in it were much better dressed. They played for an hour and then as the sun set and the mood took another peg down they handed over to the ease of pre-recorded music.

Ric could feel the heat rising on his back, the wool of the kilt keeping his legs warm, but his t-shirt wringing wet. As soon as he stepped off the stage he was surrounded, worse then any concert because at least they had a dressing room to escape to, security – instead here it was strange into the wolf pack – and the woman were just as bad.

But he was tired and drunk to boot and accepted the attention, the various woman who were determined to capture his notice by touching him, kissing him - a couple of bolder ones reaching under his kilt; attempting to touch him up. In the end it was a bold girl with teased blonde hair and big brown eyes, her breasts straining out her tight little dress that he chose. They retired to a darkened corner of the marquee where he found himself straddled and kissed, more wine pressed on him.

But as the clock struck twelve and the newlywed couple drove off to their honeymoon, he pushed her attentions away, took her number and email address with no intention of every contacting her again, even her name wasn't at the forefront of his brain anymore. Instead he slipped into the house, darkened rooms providing a sweet relief from the intensity of the day. He no longer had to share a room with Gus, instead was bunking in Jim's old quarters.

He reached out onto the windowsill, found the half smoked spliff and coaxed some life back into the few millimetres left. He needed the peace it bought, the removal from the present. With no lights on, nothing to attracted any unwanted interest from the leaving wedding guests, stumbling down the driveway, shrieks and laughter piercing the darkness.

Despite all his assurances to his friends and grandparents, he knew that he wasn't coping as well as he could. That was why he let Ellie cling to the fringes of his existence; at least she pulled him away from staring back over his shoulder. At one stage he thought he would be following this wedding with his own – had imagined only a few months back that he would be making his own plans along with Izzy. He blew a stream of smoke out of the window, resting his head back against the window frame.

The only way he knew he could cope, the only way he was able to keep going was to hide behind the mask of Phantom. In that guise he didn't need emotions, feelings – could escape from the introspection it demanded. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life reliving those last few days of his relationship with Izzy. There was only one way to survive – throw himself into his work, into his singing. This upcoming world tour would be kickass, the best Cluinn could offer every night and in the hours of darkness, when he couldn't escape – well the welcoming embrace of alcohol and hash would ease the pain. Phantom was the way forward.


	3. The Drugs Don't Work

After Chapter 45

He lay with his face buried in his pillow, legs drawn up under his stomach; curled up tight to his chest, eyelids weighed down with exhaustion and other emotions he just couldn't place. His head spun with the start of a pounding migraine, every bone in his body ached and screamed and he shook with a fever, even though the temperature of a Madrid summer outside was over forty degrees.

He had just about managed to hold himself together for the short flight over to Spain, skipped the sound check and stayed in the hotel. He knew this didn't make him popular with the other band members. In the early days they insisted on being there as the stage was raised, the speakers and sound balanced – not shirking off and relying on the talent of their crew to make sure everything was all right. But he didn't have the energy – was on a major come down. Shit, he had forgotten how crap going cold turkey on drugs was.

Instead he flopped on the bed, feeling the full weight of withdrawal settle on his body – the symptoms were not dissimilar to coming down with the flu and after last Christmas he knew what that felt like. It wasn't a good plan for he was due on stage in less then two hours, playing to a packed audience of over ten thousand at the Madrid Arena – small fry after Glastonbury, but just as important because this was a foreign audience. Cancelling was out of the question.

He rolled over, not a good move as his head pounded even more, stretched his legs realising in a sort of daze that despite the urgings of both Gus and Jim, he hadn't managed to get changed, was still wearing his leather trousers. They were hot, smelly with sweat and stuck to his legs – he'd been wearing them now for over twenty-four hours. As this fact dawned on him, he also realised that something was digging painfully into his hip – and he put his hand in his pocket, pulling out the lining of his trousers, along with a jumble of tissues, receipts and his phone – the culprit of the pain – into a mass by his side.

He had simply stuffed them all into his pocket from where they had been scattered across his bunk on the bus, in no mood to socialise or interact with anyone. Dark glasses on his face, a sweater thrown on against the chill he had skulked out to the waiting car that took them to Bristol airport and their waiting flight, refusing to communicate with any of his band mates. Hitting Spanish soil a few hours later he had gone straight to the hotel, where he now languished in the grips of withdrawal.

"Fuck," he groaned, to no one in particular; mainly because there was no one there. It was moments like this that had made him keep Ellie by his side for so long; the cruelty of being alone in a fantastic hotel room – the dream of most teenagers who desired the joy of being famous and not realising the isolation that went with it. One hour, fifty minutes – his phone beeped by his side in an annoying and repetitive manner, reminding him that he was suppose to be at the arena, having a warm up – being filmed for their tour DVD – and he scrambled amongst the detritus next to him to find the damn thing and turn it off.

Which is when his hand closed around a small square packet and he picked it up, holding it in front of his face. Narrowing his eyes, forcing his aching head to think straight he realised it was a missed wrap of coke. It must have fallen out of the bag and into the lining of his trousers, hidden from detection by the wad of paper around it.

He had bought eight wraps – at twenty-five quid apiece; it was a very quick way to blow two hundred pounds – in the old days that would have kept him going for a month, nowadays with constant per diems and the money from album sales finally making its way through; it was almost small change. He had snorted four or so the evening before, hazy recollection speared his thoughts. Gus had flushed what was left down the toilet and Ric found himself trying to remember how many had been in the bag that had briefly swung in front of his face. It didn't really matter because he still held one in his hand.

He closed his eyes, aware of his conscience battling between what was right and what he wanted to do. Surf the come down, snort another line or two to carry him over and let him perform, or turn his back on the whole affair, continue to carry the torch for sobriety and cleanliness that he had briefly dropped. He flipped the small paper across his fingers, aware of his will power weakening; the pounding of his head in tempo with the decision echoing in his brain.

* * *

The cheering of the crowd was ecstatic –screaming and yelling as he ripped his t-shirt off and with a pitching arm that could be envied by many a cricketer and baseball player threw it into the crowd, his mouth in a hard fixed grin – eyes narrowed to slits in his face. He was aware of the rest of the band following suit, before they trooped off stage and into the dressing room.

It was as if someone had pulled a plug on the energy, flicked a light switch off; for as soon as the cheering of the fans faded into a background hum, his comedown started. He turned around and kicked the door, breathing heavily through his mouth as his nose suddenly felt bunged up. Shit, he thought; realising that the quick snort he had before the final set of songs had faded away – he had nothing left – nothing to see him through the inevitable withdrawal.

He sat down heavily on the sofa, glanced up in surprise as he saw the three men who he lived and worked with standing in front of him. As was usual coming off stage they had discarded most of their clothes, the sweat dripping off their bodies. Usually it was a tussle to see who got to the shower first – instead they just stood there looking at him.

"What's this?" Ric looked up in surprise.

"Yu could say what the fuck was that," Gus spoke tightly, his Scottish accent exaggerated - a sure sign he was pissed off.

"What was what?" He feigned ignorance, stupid move, for they were sure to have noticed his surly disposition had become hyperactive and gregarious. He had managed to get three slightly mean lines out of the wrap and had snorted them to keep going that night.

"Shit man, don't treat us like idiots Ric," Jim butted in. "You were so off your face you barely knew where the fuck you were. Don't try and pretend with me, I've seen you like that before. Did you get your hands on more Charlie?" Ric simply shrugged in reply, it seemed to infuriate his bandmates.

"There is no point talking to you in this state is there man?" Gus filled in for him. Ric didn't bother to answer and simply looked at him – the effort was too much. "There's a car waiting for you- go back to the hotel and sleep it off and then we will talk."

The thought of sleep was so glorious that he didn't bother arguing with the edict, but couldn't wait to fall into the crisp cool sheets, the air con on full blast and to drift off for a full twelve hours, more. But he had forgotten what it was like to get the jitters, to have a bad comedown. His body that had been wired from the lines he had inhaled, now desperately wanted to relax and wind down, but it was almost as if he had lost the ability. As the night wore on he rolled one way across the huge king sized bed and then the other until the sheets came untucked and lay in a creased and tangled mess on the mattress. His legs restless with aches and cramps danced across the bed and his mind scrambled over all the problems in his life – the death of his mother, his brother being taken away, his grandparents getting old, walking away from his career path of being an Advocat and mostly Izzy. It seemed to taunt him in his brain – she wasn't married, did not join herself to the blonde buffoon. If he hadn't been such an arse, if he hadn't been so fucking aloof then he might still be with her, might still... He couldn't even think about it, their lives seemed so divergent, so impossible that they might ever be together again.

The memories and regret echoed in his brain, torturing him, not leaving him alone, until daylight started to creep through the gap in the curtains and he realised that the night was finally over and the sun had risen. Unfortunately his mood seemed to take a further nose dive. He stood up on wobbly legs and walked into the bathroom, ran himself a deep warm bath – maybe that would help to soothe and calm him.

But as he sat in the luxurious marble bathroom, his dysphoric mood continued to haunt him and before he knew it he put his head into his hands and burst into tears – the tears that he had refused to cry for the past few months. They were made of sadness and regret at his behaviour with Izzy, for doubting her, ignoring her – anger at his behaviour with Ellie, allowing her to distract him, fear at how far he had pushed his friends with his behaviour – shit it was only early July, they were still touring for another four months and if their expressions last night were anything to go by – pissed off was an understatement.

He must have finally dozed off, because he woke with a jolt later, the water cold around him, the hairs on his body standing on end, trying to keep him warm. Shit – how long had he been out for? He was starving hungry and still tired, maybe now he could get the sleep he had craved throughout the night. Standing up from the tub, his head pounding nose blocked he caught a glance of his reflection, recoiling at the sight. It wasn't his unmasked face that he reacted to – hell, the scar was nothing these days – instead it was the sunken look under his eyes, the bags that shadowed them, the spotty greasy look of his skin and the matted tangle of his hair. He looked like – like a junkie.

Will power spluttered as the tiniest flame inside him, hell he didn't want to go down this road again. He had gained far too much of a habit when his mother died, spent his whole student loan on drugs - coke; jellies and cannabis to smoke on the come down. It had only been his Grandparents intervention that had rescued him. He had an addictive personality, he was sure of that – work, succeeding and achieving had replaced the chemical high for most of his twenties, but it would be far too easy to slip back. Hell, drugs were always available backstage – he didn't want to go the way of so many bands, whose habits usually destroyed their careers or their lives.

Wandering back into the bedroom, his eyes focused on the snarled up bedding that sat as a bundle on the bare mattress he briefly considered calling housekeeping to come and straighten it out. Instead he turned as he heard his name called. "Ric."

"Eh," he spun in surprise, nearly dropping the towel wrapped around his waist as he saw Angus sitting at the table by the window, breakfast laid out on it, strong _café con leche_, small sweet doughnuts and cakes. "What are you doing in here?" The sight of the food was too much, he didn't think he had eaten properly for forty-eight hours or so, the coke suppressing his appetite and he snagged up a roll stuffing it into his mouth as he stood looking at his friend, not waiting for an answer.

"Came to talk to you." Angus shifted in the chair and narrowed his eyes at him. "The others wanted a council of war, but I said I wanted to speak to you first. Can you please put some clothes on? The sight of you naked butt is putting me off my breakfast!" Ric looked down in surprise, realised that his towel had slipped as he indulged in food, the shock and embarrassment flooding through him. He dug around in his bag and slipped on boxers and a t-shirt, sat down opposite his friend warily. Despite Angus' pleasant tone, he wasn't going to like what had to be said. He poured himself a cup of the strong coffee topped with steamed milk and snagged up another small cake, the inside stuffed with chocolate.

"I guess..." He muttered, not meeting his friend's gaze. He was starting to get over the withdrawal, twelve hours since he last had a snort and instead reality was biting hard – he could put some perspective on how out of character his behaviour must have been. But he was so tired still, tired and hungry and didn't really want to be lectured to by his bass guitarist. "You all could tell couldn't you?"

The snort of laughter that came from Angus made him briefly look up, catch the sight of his face screwed up with fury tinged laughter. "What, that our sullen Phantom suddenly became the most gregarious performer on earth, that you grabbed the microphone and started babbling away sixteen to the dozen? Or maybe it was the fact that you kept disappearing to the loo whenever we had a slight break." Richard lifted one shoulder, a slight twist of a smile on his mouth, there was a degree of amusement in last night.

"Whatever."

"The thing is Ric, like Jim and I said yesterday, why?"

"Why what? Why did I decide to stuff two hundred quid of Charlie up my nose? Why d'you think – it wasn't from boredom that's for sure."

"No, I know why you did it the first time. Why did you do it the second and where did you get it from?"

"Not as much as a blood hound as you thought, it was in my pocket and it seemed like a good idea at the time, go on stage feeling like shit or surf over it and delay the crappiness."

"Which you are experiencing now?" Angus observed wryly as Ric demolished another donut. He nodded in reply.

"And lassht nights," the words came out garbled as he talked around a mouthful. "Had a shitty time."

"So hopefully you can now remember why you don't want to go there anymore. Look Ric, you know we've always agreed that we wouldn't do hard core drugs as a group. If I remember rightly, you were the one who insisted upon it."

"That was then." He spoke low.

"And this is now and the same thing still applies. If you decide to float off on a cloud of snow, then we are going to go downhill from here. Or you can admit you made a mistake, shit none of us are perfect, we don't mind. As long as you can keep your nose-," he glanced down at his friend's body. "And your arms clean."

"What, I snort some coke and now I am going to go on and be a full time heroin junkie, is that what you are suggesting Gus? Shit, you make it sound like you've written me off already – want to start auditioning for a new lead singer?"

"Shut the fuck up." Gus didn't swear like that and it made Ric pause. "We know what you are like okay, all of us. We were there when you went off on one after your Mam died; I remember that you stuck almost everything possible into you."

"And haven't touched the stuff for nearly ten years."

"And Izzy isn't worth you breaking that record for. Do you really think she would be impressed by the fact that you decided to go and stuff yourself full of Coke?"

The bald comment made him stop, the noise in his head falling silent, the argument dying on his lips. Gus had hit the nail on the head – the only reason he went and got so high was because of Izzy, because of what Tatiana had said to him. And yet, it was the total opposite to what she would have wanted; her sheltered upbringing keeping her away from the less desirable aspects of life. He could almost see her eyes widening in horror and fright as she watched him snort a line. He let his face fall into his hands. "You're right again Gus, always fucking right aren't you?"

"Well someone has to be when you can't," the flippant reply came back. "Look Ric, don't throw it all away; don't let the poison that Ellie has been dripping onto you change who you are. Getting rid of her is the best thing you've done in the past six months". He swallowed hard and shifted in his chair, an obvious internal battle raging. "And look, I shouldn't tell you this, but, if it's any help – you know Izzy didn't marry Ralph Cheyne."

Richard looked up in surprise. "You knew that? When?"

"Only recently, last few days. But seriously Ric, listen to what I am saying – she isn't married; still single. At least you aren't fretting and longing after a married woman." He gave a sarcastic snort in response.

"Tatiana told me and then said I had been a shit to Isabella and stabbed my foot. She really had it in for me, decided I was scum. Guess I am not use to that, it threw me." He heaved a sigh and poured himself another cup of coffee, the insomnia had left him and now it was all he could do not to rest his head on the crisp white tablecloth and go to sleep.

"That's one woman's opinion Ric, not Isabella's. Maybe she jumped to conclusions; you don't know what's been going on the other end." His voice broke slightly and Ric looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Always the voice of reason Angus, always bloody even tempered and right." He hefted a sigh, held up his hand; his fingers clasped together in the classic boyscout promise. "Here you go then, promise not to touch hard drugs again, scouts honour; okay?"

"Do you seriously promise Ric? No coke, no blow, nothing like that."

"I mean all of it, no hash even – need to go completely dry – but I need your help, keep me on the straight and narrow." He was relieved to feel his friend clasp his hand in his.

"Sure thing mate – as long as you try, I will help you stay the clean side of the fence."

* * *

Gus had been true to his word, Ric reflected as he let himself in through the hotel room door. He put the card in the light switch and stopped dead. "Wow!" He had been through so many hotel rooms that he was no longer impressed by the top suites and huge rooms that were now standard for the band. But this was different for as the lights came on, it showed the huge glass doors out onto a balcony, the ocean crashing against the rocks below. He dropped his abused bags on the floor and headed straight out, leaning against the railings, watching the ocean swirl and crash below him – enjoying the spray of salt and ozone that slapped up into the air.

He inhaled deeply, letting the sensation wash over him, earmarked the pool for a swim. He glanced at his watch – half an hour to relax and then they were being driven over to the Bellville Velodrome in Cape Town for the sound check.

It was late July, four weeks since Glastonbury; a heck of a long time since he decided to clean up. Gus had been with him every step of the way, helping him through the nightmarish days of going totally dry, when he tried to purge his body of the remaining effects of cocaine and cannabis, excess alcohol and stimulants that had become standard when he was partying with Ellie.

And after the horrible few days when his head and body barely seemed to belong together, when the concerts in Barcelona, Paris and Berlin were played on a degree of automatic pilot, he started to piece his life back together. Stayed away from the elaborate after concert parties, kept himself apart from the hoards of groupies who offered the world in exchange for their few moments with Phantom; instead tried to be the sort of man his ex-girlfriend would look up to.

He found the gym again, started to press weights properly again, let Sandy gently bully him into once again achieving the level of fitness that he had enjoyed at the start of the year. And in the evenings, when loneliness threatened to overwhelm he and Gus sat down, got out the Scrabble

board and started to challenge each other to the highest scores.

And that was how they had toured through Germany, Austria, Hungary and Switzerland. By the time they flew up to Norway and Sweden he was once again on top of his game, fit; healthy and loving the energy and excitement of performing to the worked up audiences. He was looking forward to the two concerts in Cape Town, it almost felt like the beginning of the end, for they only had another couple of months to go – Argentina, Chile, Brazil after that – then the final few dates in the US and Canada and then... He didn't let himself think that far in advance; didn't want to know. Turning back into the room he grabbed his swimming trunks – time for a few laps before the start of the work.

It was an amazing concert – truly amazing. The audience worked up to a pitch he had rarely seen in all the venues they had played over the world. The arena was sold out, both nights and the energy given out by the crowd inspired all of them. He came off stage so buzzed he knew there was no way he would go to sleep easily.

He trounced Angus at their nightly game of Scrabble, laughing at his friend's disgust when he once again soundly beat his score. "I swear you cheat, bet half the words don't even really count. I mean what is Obtemper again?" Gus flopped back into the chair, rocking slightly on the back legs.

"To obey a court decree. It is allowed. Possibly_ judicata_ isn't, technically it's Latin." He sat back and laughed easily. "But don't be a sore loser Gus, even without that one word, I've still beaten you by more then seventy." His friend snorted again and packed up the well worn board.

"Whatever mate, listen I am going to hit the sack, we have that interview in a few hours and I need my beauty sleep. See you in the morning hey?"

"Sure." Ric stood up, clapped a friendly hand to the guitarist shoulder and showed him out the room. "I think we might even get Sandy playing soon – he was looking quite bored today!" He smiled as Gus ambled up the hallway, shut the door behind him and turned to face the stunning view, lost under the cover of darkness.

He fell into bed, not bothering to draw the curtains – hoping the sunrise would wake him and he could watch it come up over the sea and mountains to the east. Two o'clock, it wouldn't be too long. He stretched himself out on the luxurious bed and closed his eyes.

It barely felt as if he had closed them when his phone next to his bed rang. Cursing he fumbled for it, picking it up with a yawn. "Hello."

"Ric? Oh god,Ric!" He heard Izzy's voice echo back down the line at him.

* * *

**And we know where the story goes from there. Hope this has helped fill in the background of Ric and Izzy's time apart. Next scenes they will be back together again - never fear.**


	4. Readjusting

**Sorry it's taken so long to post this one. Obviously takes place before they go up to Glasgow. Enjoy...**

Somewhere during Chapter 51

The screaming of the crowd carried through the auditorium following them down the wide corridor as they were hurried back to the dressing room; trying to stay ahead of the groupies and hustlers who would soon come pouring into the backstage area, hoping to catch a glimpse, get a nod, even speak with their idols. It use to amuse him; now with new perspective he really wasn't in the mood.

It wasn't that the adrenalin was absent, that rushed through his body as usual – his arms and legs tingling with the blood rush that would soon flood out of his body leaving an exhaustion beyond comprehension. No, it was the fact that he was separated by over one hundred miles and three hours of motorway from the people he most wanted to be with. Not that serious compared to the thousands of miles and continents that had been between them before, but then their relationship had been fragile and unsubstantiated. Now Izzy was his fiancée; his future wife and he simply wanted to hold her in his arms.

But she had refused to come with him for these three tour dates, clearly and firmly stated that it was not the sort of environment that she wished to expose their eight month old daughter to. No, she wasn't prepared to sit in a hotel room with her either and wait, no she didn't want to hire a nanny to come with them. It seemed that Isabella had grown a steel spine in his absence.

So instead he had contented himself with taking her out to Hatton Gardens, made her choose a ring to wear on her finger, staking his claim on her. It reassured him; not that he was worried she would stray more the fact that he wanted the world to know that she was his; she and Lara belonged to him...except. He huffed a sigh; they belonged to Richard Stewart; not Phantom and right now he was Phantom from his tangled sweaty hair, past his bare chest to the very tips of his toes in their DM boots.

Gus took an oblique glance as he sighed and swore under his breath, never breaking stride with the group. "What's eating you up?"

"Huh?" He glanced up at him, noticed the crooked smile his bass guitarist gave him. Of course Angus was happy; he had his girlfriend waiting backstage. Tatiana was with them for both nights in Cardiff and had even volunteered to follow them to Dublin and Belfast.

"Nothing; just thinking..." He didn't say anything else for they reached the dressing room, waiting for the usual tussle to get into the shower first, before all the hot water was taken; he barely registered Tatiana and Alanya's presence as he sprinted the last few steps and stood in the doorway to the bathroom, making sure that none of the others could squeeze past. They all complained good naturedly as he took his boots off; threw them into the room; narrowly avoiding Sandy who was sprawled across the centre of the floor.

He had a reason for wanting to be first in – got the most privacy after, whilst the others got changed and ready before they mingled with the after show crowd. That was the trouble with a two night gig, there was the expectation to party after the first show. Removing his mask and stripping off his sweaty clothing, he stuck his head under the stream of water, rinsing the perspiration off his face and body – reviving slightly in the hot water; able to be a bit more rational about the situation. There was no use getting upset that Izzy wasn't with him – if he really wanted her in his life; as his wife then this was the way it was going to be.

But he didn't spend more then his allotted five minutes in the shower; it was unfair to deny the other guys' time to relax and a shower with hot water and also at ten-thirty he needed to phone Isabella quickly or she would be asleep in bed. He wandered out the shower, mask firmly back on his face but a towel wrapped around his hips; another around his head; stopping the water from dripping down his back. It was ironic; he didn't mind people potentially seeing his body; just not his face – the opposite of the normal play on things. He stopped slightly at the sight of the women in the changing room; unused to seeing them there before pausing – not groupies as he had first feared, but Tatiana and Laney chatting away on the sofa. God how he wished Izzy was sitting there in between them.

With nothing more than a nod and grunt he changed into jeans and t-shirt; dragged a comb through his hair although it didn't get so tangled since Izzy had cut it. And then with the barest attention to his appearance; he grabbed up his phone and went in search of a quiet space to call his fiancée.

She was in bed when he called; Lara had gone down easily and she was tired, but had been lying there reading; waiting for his call. Yes, she had got the flowers he had sent; totally extravagant of course. She missed him and hoped the concert went well. Damn; why was it so difficult to make decent conversation; to actually say how he felt.

I miss you Izzy; you and Lara. My life is once again complete and I hate being away from you as it feels like it might all disappear again. That is what he wanted to say; but the words just wouldn't come out right. "I love you," he said. Izzy responded with a deep chuckle.

"I know you do Ric; that's the fifth time you said it you know. Now darling, let me get some sleep; you know what an early riser your daughter is. And don't get up to any mischief tonight; I have Gus and Tatty keeping an eye on you!" He snorted at her light hearted words, once again saying goodnight before reluctantly finishing the call. He hesitated before he stood up and shook out his legs slightly, reluctant to go outside. He was in an unused dressing room and had only turned on the lights around the mirror, not wanting to draw any attention to his presence. There was a strange peace in this little oasis amidst the bustle of the after show and he was reluctant to leave it.

But peace and privacy was not something he could ask for as the Phantom; his career depended on journalists writing about him; being out there and whilst he wasn't about to sell his life story to the swarms of gossip magazines; it helped for him to be seen; to communicate. Tonight it was meeting some fans who had entered a prize draw – 'Go to the after show party with Cluinn' – another of Tatiana's promotional ideas. It worked; but it was annoying to have to entertain some awe struck teenagers. He wasn't in the right frame of mind.

Blowing some air through his cheeks he wrenched the door open, strode through and barged straight into Tatiana who raised an eyebrow. "Ah, that's where you were skulking; everyone is looking for you!"

"How surprising!" The words came out with a sarcastic coating; his annoyance and frustration too hard to dampen down.

"You been speaking to Izzy?" She asked the question quietly and he nodded sharply; his brow furrowed; lips in a thin line. She smiled back at him with genuine warmth and it softened him slightly.

"Here," she dug in her pocket; pulling out a little pouch. "She asked me to give you this by the way; said I was to wait until you were grumpy and fed up – I would guess that's about now?"

"That obvious is it?" He spoke gruffly, but couldn't help smiling as he took the small bag from her and pulled out the contents. It was a small silver charm, Lara's thumb print on it and her name etched on the side. The smile widened as he looked at, glad of the reminder of his daughter. "Cool!" He pulled the bunch of keys out of his pocket that he had clipped to his belt, along with his stage pass and ID and fastened it to the ring. The reminder of his other life was reassuring; sobering and he flashed a slight smile at the woman opposite.

"See, cheer up; smile and come and meet these teenagers who are practically wetting themselves with excitement!" He gave a sigh and smiled again causing Tatiana to fling one arm around his shoulders and pull the unmasked side of his cheek towards hers. They were both startled by the flash of a camera, catching the innocent but intimate moment. It was enough for them to drop the open embrace and take a step apart.

Ignoring the hovering reporter they collectively turned their backs and wandered up the corridor. "So who am I meeting then?"

* * *

Frustration seemed to follow him around like a dog for the rest of the tour. It was fine once he got on stage – almost as if the buried side of him woke up – Phantom rose up, a creature that fed on the roar of the crowd and feasted on the audience's reaction. But the hours in between were tedious and picked away at his behaviour.

Dublin was a city he had wanted to see for a long time and he excused himself to trample the streets for a couple of hours as the stage was being raised, but as he wandered down Temple Bar looking at the shops and cafes and then walking over to Trinity College, all he could think about was sharing the experience with Izzy. He threw into sharp relief the presence she had in his life, how he desperately wanted to be with her.

His longing only increased when he phoned her that night and got her sleepy reply, her sentences short and lazy, her laughter rounded and throaty and he could see her lying in bed, her dark locks tumbling about her shoulders and he wanted to be with her, the longing an ache – not just between his legs, but throughout his entire body.

Damn, he couldn't believe he nearly lost this woman; abandoned her through his own selfish behaviour. He vowed privately that he would never behave like that again – he would always put Izzy first. This vow uppermost in his mind he squared his shoulders, cleared his mind and with a deep breath continued on.

It did seem the fates were against him however, despite his best attempts to remain focused and put his all into performing reminders of what was waiting for him at home were shoved in his face left, right and centre. Tatiana continued on the tour with them, obviously the relationship with Angus being positive for he had caught her tumbling out of the bass guitarists room in the morning and for once it was Gus who looked hungover from lack of sleep and not Sandy or Jim. The only trouble was that Izzy had obviously primed her and small gifts and notes continued to come his way – a picture frame with her and Lara, a silly note and scribbled drawing that his daughter had supposedly penned, a love letter she had written. They all reopened the ache in his heart.

Two nights in Cardiff and two in Dublin, one in Belfast – by the end of the mini tour he was fully ready to go home. They had a whole week off before the Glasgow concert – their final of the world tour. He and Izzy were going to take the opportunity to spend some time up in Scotland, be with his Grandparents and let them get to know their great granddaughter. His Grandmother was almost beside herself with excitement.

The frustration and anger when he found out their plane was grounded at the airport due to bad weather almost had him throwing a tantrum. He briefly considered hiring a car, trying to drive back to London, although common sense just about kept him from rushing out the departure lounge. It would have been quicker to go straight to Glasgow.

It meant that he only arrived back home early evening, the car collecting him from Heathrow got caught in the rush hour snarl and he didn't step over the door of the flat until past nine o'clock. "Hey!" Izzy walked towards him; her face lit up with a smile, a finger across her lip; warning him to be quiet. He didn't have talking in mind as he gathered her up in his arms, kissing her long and deep and hard; his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth before leisurely gliding up the side of her cheek; nibbling on her ear. She pulled away with a laugh.

"Hey come back, I'm hungry!" He grabbed onto her arm as she turned towards the kitchen.

"I have supper for you, come and eat.. Nothing special just some nice bread and cheese." He didn't let go.

"Not for food." He let a suggestive smile linger on his lips; hoping she would read the meaning. They still hadn't re-consummated their relationship. He had tried briefly, but Izzy had been to wound up, too tense; said that it hurt when he tried to touch her. He has stopped, not wanting to push her further, but now with a week of longing spurring him on; he was determined to try again.

"Oh!" He couldn't help noticing the flash of panic that crossed over her face; even though she quickly replaced it with a smile, stepping back from him. "Why do you go and say goodnight to Lara and I will see you..um..." She trailed off, obviously not saying what she wanted, but shrugged slightly. The gesture drew him to the fact that she was wearing a sexy cashmere sweater, one shoulder peeking out, smooth and satiny in the muted light. His erection started straining.

But he took a deep breath and ran his hand down the side of her face, pressed another gentle kiss to her lips before turning in the direction of his old room. They had once again swopped living arrangements, Lara installed in his old room – still in her travel cot, whilst he was back to sharing a bed with Izzy.

They hadn't really talked about the future in terms of housing and where they would live. Ric was unsure about Izzy's expectations; part of him hoped she might consider Scotland, but he didn't want to suggest it, scared to railroad her into a decision. She seemed so happy in the South; although he had no desire to move down to Surrey and Haslemere, it was too manicured; too stockbroker belt and far too close to Ralph Cheyne's parents for his liking.

He gently pushed open the door, pausing in the dimness offered from the small glow of the night light. His daughter was fast asleep, limp as only a small child could be; flat on her back her arms by the side of her head – away with her dreams as only a young child could be; knowing they were totally safe secure and loved in their little world. He leant over and pressed a kiss to her small head, brushed his hand over the soft red locks –unable to stop the smile that spread across his mouth. God, how could he have continued to survive in his current career if he didn't have this to come home to?

Silently stepping backwards, he sought the door, pulling it slightly closed behind him as Izzy liked. She refused to shut it fully, demanded that they kept the noise down as their daughter fell asleep then shut her up in the dark. He couldn't help but agree.

But there was something greater pressing on his mind, and his trousers and he quickly moved into the main bedroom, relieved to see the sheets turned down, the beside lights lit, a candle flickering on the dressing table, adding to the romantic feel. He had hoped that Izzy would be waiting for him in bed, but she wasn't there, probably in the bathroom. He stripped off his travel worn clothes, kicked them into the corner and peering into the mirror pried the mask from his face. She chose that moment to walk through the door and stopped dead, he could see her reflection, the shock on her face when confronted with his naked back and bottom; the small tattoo he had on his lower cheek – she wouldn't have seen that before; he had it done in the States after they had won the Album of the Year at the MTV awards; a small star – ego trip really, but he had been swimming with the adrenalin of success and too much champagne. Jim had a similar one on his back, Gus on torso and Sandy on his wrist, they were small and subtle – a group declaration about their success.

But Izzy hadn't seen him fully naked since they had got back together. They had been in bed together, but the lights had been out – they had fumbled together under the cover of darkness. This was the first time he stood naked in front of her with the lights on. In contrast she was wearing her usual, slightly tatty pyjamas and a t-shirt, the unglamorous grey strap of a feeding bra underneath. He let out a small mental sigh, hoping that she might have dressed up for him in the sexy little nightie she had worn the other week.

"Are you tired, shall we go to bed?" she said; biting her lip her gaze very obviously trained on the floor and not on him, especially since he had spun around and was standing in front of her. He took a step forward and grabbed her wrists, feeling the tension in them as if she was about to fly and he paused, wondering what had made her so skittish all of a sudden. The Izzy he knew was a confident sexual creature; he was unsure of this woman in front of him, as nervous as a virgin.

"Izzy?" He said her name as a greeting, a question and a claim, lightly brushing his lips over hers. He felt the tremble that went through her. "Sweetheart?"

"Kiss me again," she whispered against his lips and he was powerless to refuse. He loved kissing her, loved the way she melted against him as she was doing now; loved the way...He paused and felt rigidity returning to her body as she pulled away, as her body came into contact with his straining erection pressed against her stomach. With a flurry she broke the gentle hold of his hands around her wrists and before he could react was in bed, the duvet pulled up over her chest.

He turned and faced her, knowing he looked shocked; he couldn't hide the fact that she was avoiding touching him; avoiding any contact that might turn either of them on, that could lead to sex. And it was sex, no, making love that he desperately wanted to do. "Sorry," she whispered. "I'm, I'm just tired." She must have known that the excuse sounded lame, for she stayed still, fluttered her eyelids closed, gave a slight yawn. He didn't know what to do and so moved towards the empty side of the bed; his side – the side he had always slept on when they had been together before. His pyjamas bottoms were neatly cleaned and folded on the pillow, notice more then anything else that she obviously did not want to couple with him. He gave a sigh and put them on, clambered into bed next to her, his hands behind his head, watching as she reached a hand out and plunged the room into darkness with a flick of the switch; the only illumination the candle on the dresser.

He lay there for a few moments, disappointment flooding through his body, his excitement draining out of him, like air out a balloon – deflating. It was tempting to be as cold to Izzy as she was to him, her back currently turned in his direction, but he could tell something was wrong – knew that she was hurting inside – he just wished she would explain why. He rolled onto his side and draped a gentle arm around the stiff body next to him. "Izzy," he whispered in her ear. "Izzy," he pressed a kiss to her side, just below her ear, heard the shuddering tear soaked sigh move through her body. "Please tell me what's wrong darling, please? I can't help if I don't know!"

The voice came quietly from the darkness, so soft he had to strain slightly to hear it. "You, you, want to have sex, make love to me."

"Of course I do darling, desperate to. Desperate to be together with you again, to be inside you." He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, she rolled over slightly and turned to look at him, her eyes hooded in the dim light.

"It's going to hurt Ric, really hurt...and I'm scared."

"Hurt?" He was confused at her admission, unsure about why it would cause her pain. They had made plenty of love before and she had never said anything. "Why should it hurt?"

"Because I haven't had any sex since Lara's been born and I don't think – things aren't quite the same down there anymore. It's all tight and you are so..." She trailed off. "It scares me." He remained silent for a while, digesting what she had said, mulling over the couple of facts he had been able to pick up from the statement, trying to think analytically. It had to be since the birth of their daughter, it was something she had never talked to him about.

"Was Lara's birth difficult?" He finally asked, having mused over all the options – this seemed the most sensible explanation.

"Not especially, no more then normal apparently, but I did get a second degree tear and it was quite a few stitches to fix it all." She paused. "Well, thirty-six according to the surgeon." He sucked in his breath at the thought, glad all of a sudden that he had been absent; it didn't sound like something he would have wanted to have seen. "It's just worrying, that's all – and I haven't been sexually," she paused. "You know Ralph and I never really did it when we together and then he left me before Lara was born so I haven't had any sex for over a year and when it is put together with the thought of anything happening down there – I just. I'm scared."

Part of him wanted to laugh and punch the air – glad that her hesitancy wasn't down to him; that Ralph was as much a wanker as he had always thought; as Tatiana had alluded to. But it was immature and didn't help matters; instead he needed to act on what his fiancée had told him.

"Does this hurt?" He gently ran his hand up and down her arm, the tips of his fingers brushing against her nipples; through the bra and he could feel them getting erect.

"N-No." Her words came a little breathlessly. "That's quite nice actually." He smiled in the darkness and continued the action, running his hand lower, transferring it on to her body, ignoring the ache that had once again started up between his legs. It was on Izzy's terms now.

"Well, that is what we will do for the moment then, how does that sound?" He said, rolling her over, pulling her body into a spoon against him. "That's all, let's just enjoy getting to know each other's bodies again – the sex; the love making it can wait!" He felt his body cry out at the injustice he had just served it but remained resolute, tried to keep his mind in control. He could wait – heck he had waited over a year to get her back, another few weeks wouldn't hurt.

* * *

She seemed calmer the next day, woke with a smile on her face and they sat there huddled under the duvet as their daughter romped around between them. It was a cosy easy scene and Ric found himself mentally giving himself a shake, such was the perfect ideal it embraced. Despite that the public at large thought Phantom was a heavy rocking, hard living man; he – Richard; desired nothing more then a family, a home and a safe secure future. It was a total dichotomy to his upbringing and what his life offered now – possibly making it all the more desirable.

The only thing he had to do know was find somewhere to live. The flat was fine as a stop gap and they were happy there, but it would be nice to have a little more room. Lara was cruising and on the edge of crawling and soon their walls would shrink in even further as she became increasingly mobile. Even as he sat at the table, watching her sitting on her play mat, talking to her various toys; he knew it wouldn't be long until the backwards shuffle she was doing would turn into a super speed crawl. He vaguely remembered his brother reaching that stage; his mother bemoaning the lack of space in the little council maisonette where she had lived.

Izzy had gone out for the morning, gratefully leaving Ric in charge of childcare. He wasn't in a hurry to get up and dressed; tired after the concerts and relishing having a day to potter around, when he didn't need to be somewhere at a certain time. Instead he sat at his computer; idly browsing housing websites, finding the selection depressing – mainly because he didn't know where he wanted to live, or more importantly where Izzy wanted to.

For once he was grateful when the buzzer rang disturbing the peace; Angus downstairs wanting to come and see him. He scooped Lara into his arms and opened the door for his friend, standing back with a smile as Gus bounded up the stairs and into the small flat, pausing to plant a kiss on his daughter's head.

"You just got up you lazy git?" Angus remarked as he threw his coat over the sofa and sunk into the cushions.

"With a small child in the house, are you kidding me? She woke at seven and that was a lie in. No, just been doing some stuff and haven't got dressed – not like we have to be anywhere. Why are you up so bright and early?"

"Well Tatty was," Angus' voice was casual but Ric smiled at the wry note in it. Yup his friend was falling hard for this woman. "And, wanted to show you this – wondered if you could scan it through for me?" He held up a sheaf of papers that he had been holding rolled up in his hand and Ric grabbed them glancing down at the front page.

"Property?" He looked up. "Are yu buying?"

"Aye."

"Where?"

"Glasgow!" Angus nodded sagely, a smile on his face.

"But I thought you could always live with your parents when we were up in Scotland, weren't those your words? Why the change of heart?"

"Oh, I went up when we first came back off tour and hell Ric, I miss the plaice, want to own property in the city even if I can't live there. Have a bolthole and an investment." Ric glanced at the details again.

"Nearly half a mill, that's some investment. Not thinking of buying anything down here instead?"

"Well, possibly both actually and then I don't have to make a decision where I ultimately want to live. Hence not going for a house or anything more expensive." Ric nodded in agreement, before laughing all of a sudden as his brain caught up with the conversation. "What?" Gus looked at him curiously. "What you finding funny about housing particulars."

"Oh nothing, want a cup of tea?" He wandered into the kitchen, flicking the switch on the kettle and studying the closely written notes that the agent had sent over detailing the property. "What are you willing to offer?" he called out, "as they are taking offers over four forty?"

"Nothing more then four fifty, I think. But the thing is Ric," Gus wandered into the small space next to him, watching as he made the tea. "I was wondering if you would act as my solicitor on my behalf – you know; arrange the sale for me and the like. I could use my parents chap, but I think he's a bit of a Muppet and I trust you! Know you won't screw me over!"

Ric let out a sharp bark of laughter and handed the papers back to his friend. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but unfortunately I've never done my discharge, so never got my full practising certificate. I could only oversee it if I was still employed at a law firm."

"Oh," Angus looked momentarily put out and gave a sigh accepting the cup of tea Ric pushed in his direction. "Guess I'll have to use the Muppet then."

"I can probably recommend a couple of people who I was training with, sure they've gone on and got their certificates – only people like me who got distracted." He gave a sigh and picked up his cup, wandering back out into the living room and squatted down on the floor next to his daughter who was occupied picking the corking out between the floor boards.

"So you still call this whole mad music thing a distraction do you? Is the law still the real way forward." Ric looked up over his shoulder at the comment; realising Angus had clung onto his idle remark.

"No, shit no way Gus," he shook his head, realising at how alarming his words could be interpreted. "Hell, I'm making a bloody good living out of it all, it's not a distraction at all – you know life is sorting itself out in other ways." He paused. "But yeah, I miss the law sometimes, maybe should at least try and complete the course, rather then leave it hanging in the air, whilst it is still vaguely fresh. I mean the music world is so fickle – we could still go and crap out with the next album couldn't we?"

"S'pose so. You could always go and do some work in the next year. As long as you write a few songs in between." Gus gave a sigh. "But you still haven't answered my question, what do you think of this property – should I go for it?" He levered himself up off the floor, Lara clinging to his leg and grabbed the particulars again, looking over it a second time with less of an eye to the detail. He pulled a face that changed to a smile.

"Go for it Gus, what have you got to loose. You'll get more for your money up there, then down here in London. Pay that much for one bedroom, not three!"

"Tell me about it." Gus hesitated. "Shit Ric, can't believe I am seriously thinking of spending over a million on property when two years ago I was living in that dive in Dalston." He shook his head. "Life changes, hey?"

"I thought Dalston was quite nice compared to some of the accommodation I had been sleeping in. And a hell of a lot more comfortable then Jim's couch or the back of the van." Ric tossed back before he paused. "Although I remember the carpet being very brown – s'pose it didn't show the stains so much. God, I had nearly forgotten about that place. Remember it was where Izzy bolted from."

"Yeah and I remember you being a bloody pain about it and moaning about how shit women were and how you thought there was a connection there and she was just the same as all the rest. And then you lost her address so couldn't see her..."

"Oh shit yeah." Ric laughed at the thought and looked down at his daughter was had graduated to clinging to the edge of the sofa, moving her way around to try and get to Angus. He bent over and grabbed his cup from the table, taking a swig of tea. "I found it in the case to my violin which I didn't open for three months or something and ...to this day cannot figure out why I put it in there. Shows life works in mysterious ways!" He sat down on the chair opposite his friend and drained his cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a wistful smile on his face as his daughter begged Angus to pick her up and put her on the couch. It was amazing how his life had moved on, changed – thankfully all for the better.

"Well, I guess I had better let you get on with whatever you were not doing," his friend spoke as he picked Lara up. "I want to go and look round a few estate agents whilst I have a couple of days to myself." Ric perked his ears up and looked up at Gus.

"Do you?" He smiled. "D'you mind if Lara and I tag along then? It's just I'd like to get an idea of what is out there, get a feel. I was looking on the internet earlier. Gus let out a smile.

"As long as you don't try and pretend we are married and Lara is our daughter..." He teased as Ric extracted himself from the chair, holding up his hand to indicate the five minutes it would take him to get ready.

"What are these darling?" He looked up from his book, where he had been reviewing some music he had been writing, not sure what his fiancée was talking about. He saw she was holding some housing details in her hand.

"Oh properties that Gus was looking at," he spoke. "Wants my opinion on them, that's all. We just went around a few estate agents today."

"Oh." The word was finite and she put the particulars down again on the table, a frown on her face thrown into relief by the light given off from the dimmed lights. "So not anything you're interested in?" Her voice was light, almost innocently uncurious and Ric looked up with a frown, sensing that she was digging more then being obviously aware of any tactics. He didn't want to talk property and houses with her – two hours of being dragged around Estate Agents with Gus had left him vowing to live in a hole on a river bank as long as he didn't have to buy it with the help of an agent.

Lara had been exceedingly good throughout the whole challenge, only letting out a cry when she dropped her blanket and he was late with the supply of biscuits that Izzy had thoughtfully stuck in the change bag. But manovering the bulky pushchair in and out of overheated high street offices was a pain – and then there was the curious way all the staff looked him up and down, no doubt assessing and guessing his relationship to Angus. He was sure several of the females had him married off as a gay partner; even if they cooed over his daughter.

Izzy still wasn't back when he got home and he had to go through the elaborate ritual of giving his daughter lunch and putting her down for her nap. He was never sure how to get her off to sleep, worried that she would balk at his rough touch compared to her mother's. He tended to sing to her instead – it seemed to work.

Izzy finally got home in the afternoon, her arms laden with carrier bags that she shoved under the bed and in wardrobes in a mysterious way. And she had been her usual happy self that afternoon, so whatever she had been up to – she seemed to have cheered up from the night before. And now she was leaning over the back of the sofa; looking over his shoulder as he studied the notes he had written down, reviewing them in his head to see if the sound made any sense. Not really a tune; more of a repeat phrase – a ditty for want of a better word.

"Shall we go to bed?" She asked after a moment; her breath tickling his neck. He looked up and gave a smile, wondering at her change of mood since last night.

"Is this an... invitation?"

"It's a maybe." She shrugged and walked off, leaving him to muse over her offer for all of a second before he followed her.


	5. Moving On

**Sorry it's been so long - real life got in the way. But for those of you who still want to know a little more here is another offering - an out take which wasn't put in because it's just a bit cheesey and fluffy. Still that is nice sometimes. enjoy!**

The never ending miles of motorway rolled away under our tyres; the hum of the tarmac a constant rhythm, softened by the luxury of the vehicle we sat in. We had been driving for over two hours and I was getting weary of the scenery and sitting still, starting to shift around in my seat as the signs started to point towards Birmingham. Ric shifted his glance away from the car in front of him for a brief second and looked over at me. "We'll stop at the next services and you can stretch your legs – change Lara's nappy." He turned his gaze back to the road and I shot him a grateful smile, stretching slightly, knowing that I would be able to get out the car soon.

We were on our way up to Scotland; driving my new car packed full of our possessions; moving away from London and into our new house. It was the beginning of February; the house buying process had taken a whole month; even with Richard pushing the process through, trying to bypass the solicitors as much as possible. Several times he had cursed his lack of a practicing certificate; its absence meaning that there were certain searches and information he wasn't able to access.

The process had been slowed down by the abominably bad weather we had experienced over January; our new home being almost inaccessible for a couple of weeks due to heavy snow. My fiancés solution to the problem had been to buy me a new four-wheel drive car; designed to cope with the rough driving and less then ideal weather conditions. And so on the first day of February, we had loaded it up with our meagre possessions and started out on the long drive to our new home – and new country.

The car had been the latest in a long line of purchases; for it was only on a return trip to the house that we became aware of the vast echoing room and large open spaces – which we didn't have any furnishings to fill. The few items that were at the flat were well worn and loved and – as we had decided to keep it as a London crash pad; were necessary where they sat. Instead we spent more then our fair share of free time in the department stores of our capital city. We had to buy everything from beds to curtains; sofas to chairs; bed linen to cutlery; kitchen equipment and tables.

It made me aware of exactly how much money Richard did have access to and for that matter me. After my outburst in Scotland with regards to his earnings; he had sat me down and showed me his bank accounts; explained how he was saving and then, after an hour at Coutts; gave me my own cards. Having been use to scrimping and pinching; balancing the small budget I lived on and spending most of my adult life at the mercy of an overdraft; it was staggering to not have to worry when I handed over the plastic.

And so with my fiancées blessing, I spent hours wandering around shops; sometimes with Lara as a companion; others Ric and occasionally Tatiana; trying to choose all the things needed for my new home. My friend was less then enthusiastic at my move; acting as if Scotland was the back of beyond and not a short flight away. From the moment I had told her about the; admittedly spontaneous purchase of our new house, she had been doing her level best to convince me otherwise. It was cold up there, we would get snowed in; I would be lonely. It was actually quite flattering, realising how desperately she didn't want me to leave.

She had even tried to convince Ric otherwise, claiming that he needed to be near London to keep the music going, for Phantom 'to be seen' and that moving to the wilds of Scotland would be a suicidal career move. He had shrugged and laughed at that, before slicing and dicing all her arguments with his rational logic. "And you can come and stay whenever you want Tat," he had added kindly; having failed to convince her of the existence of snowploughs, four-wheeled drive vehicles and supermarkets, north of the border. "I promise we will have wireless in the house for e-mail..." she shrugged her shoulders at his comment so he added with a mischievous smile (that would have melted a thousand fans hearts) "and a hot tub on the deck by the loch."

But despite her lack of blessing, we still decided to go ahead with the move and continued with the purchase of the house. In the end Tatiana realised that we weren't to be turned and said I could still do some work for her – mainly the Cluinn account!

It was late evening by the time we reached our new home, the house sitting in darkness; no welcoming street lights or passing traffic breaking up the black intensity of a winter's night. I looked around as we drew up, the gravel crunching under the car as we pulled up by the main door, weary with the seven hours of travelling. An automatic light suddenly flooded the driveway as we moved towards it; the bright white a shock after the darkness. Lara had fallen asleep; meaning that we would have a hell of a night; if she decided not to continue with her shuteye.

Ric switched off the engine and we sat in silence, looking at the heavy oak front door in front of us. "Well Mrs Stewart," he said finally.

"Not yet!" It was almost an automatic retort; for he realised that I rose to his gentle teasing.

"Aye, but not too long either. You ready to go in?" He paused and glanced over at the house; his silhouette caught in the latent light. He had been channelling country man for the past few weeks; his long Phantom locks gone; his hair cut short – moulded to his head so that it threw his cheekbones into sharp relief, the scruff of beard around his chin and his glasses on. It was as if he had firmly locked his alter ego away; determined to be the model husband and father. Even his clothes were more conservative, scraggy blue jeans – a hooded sweater and caterpillar boots. In some ways I missed the tight black clothing; the rock star persona that he seemed to so easily turn on and off.

I slid out of the car; eager to be on my feet again after hours of sitting and driving. The cold hit me like a knife and I gasped; air rising from my lips in a mist, my nose tingling and turning red as I shivered. Ric was by my side in an instant. "Welcome to Scotland," he said softly. "A few months will harden you up!" He pulled me close into him in a hug. "Now, do I need to carry you across the threshold or not?"

* * *

We settled in surprisingly easily; partly due to the friendly and easy going nature of the other people in the village. News spread quickly that someone had bought 'Lochan tigh' (as our house was named by the builder. It meant little lake house apparently) and there was a constant stream of people coming and welcoming us to the village and when they heard me open my mouth; they all doubled their efforts to welcome me to both the village and my new country.

I understood Ric's 'transformation' in terms of his appearance, because no one questioned him when he said that he worked in the music industry; but was retraining to become a solicitor. It wasn't a total lie, for we had only been in our house a couple of weeks when he dropped the bombshell that he planned to return to his training, focus on passing his final exams and get his practice certificate. It was a pointless gesture in terms of work; for the chances of him ever practicing; or taking his study further and pursuing the career path of an Advocat was slim. However, working on the purchase of his house had reopened an ache in him he said and he simply wanted to tie up loose ends.

It seemed strange to see him all dressed up in a suit, formal and corporate. Determined to keep his musical life separate from his chosen career path, he was the epitome of a young upcoming solicitor who had been fast tracked through the system. Double cuffed white collar shirts, a couple of beautifully cut wool suits, shiny leather brogues, and sober ties were the order of the day – a far cry from his usual dress sense. He even went as far as separating out his clothing; everything that he normally wore was allocated a place in his walk in closet upstairs; but he insisted on installing another floor to ceiling cupboard downstairs in the room we had ear marked as his study and in this he put anything he considered a costume.

I hadn't really paid that much attention to all his belongings beforehand; but as it was unpacked and put away I realised the extent of clothing that had toured around the world with Cluinn; a whole cow herd worth of leather – jackets; trousers and boots, relieved by a fair share of denim and the few tops that seemed to survive the concerts without being chucked into the crowd.

I sat in the corner of the study as he sorted out his possessions, flicking through the boxes that had been stacked into the room, curiosity making me look at the contents; ostensibly helping him by sorting them into the different tenets of his life – degrees; law; music; house and bank information – it was all there packed into various boxes – reams of notes, paper and files – it made me aware of how little of my future husband's life I was fully aware of. He laughed as I pulled out the certificates of his music and degree with exclamations of surprise and praise; more so when I stumbled across the gold and platinum disks for the various singles and albums that Cluinn had been awarded; a Brit award stuck upside down in the same box "You have to hang these all up Ric!" I exclaimed in amazement as I unloaded several frames with varying degree of dust on them.

"Humph," was his response, with a half-hearted smile. "No, they can go into our loft – seeing as they simply came from my grandparent's one!"

"No, they won't – this is your lifetime of achievement here and it is important to display it – the first grade piano certificate as much as the disks; it's not bragging – it is a reminder of how much work you have put in. Hang them up in here for yourself!" He grunted some more at the suggestion, not agreeing or rejecting the plan, but I heard him with the drill and hammer later then afternoon and the next day he had hung them up as a huge montage covering the wall, the focus on his academic achievements as opposed to his music.

We were living a strange half sort of life, mainly because we lacked furniture to have our house finished and up and running. Even though we had ordered most of it before we moved in, the delivery seemed to be rather random and it was only after being in Scotland for over two weeks that our dining room table and chairs finally arrived. We celebrated by having Jim and Alanya over to supper; glad that we could actually entertain someone – even if we only had one armchair in the whole house.

We sat around the table, the remnants of our supper in front of us, a couple of empty bottles decorating the table; some candles burning low in their holders. Jim was drinking hard; his personality becoming more ebullient as he indulged, somehow not seeming drunk; whilst Alanya barely sipped at the one glass she nursed all evening. I frowned at her, my eyes drifting down to her flat belly in skinny little jeans; wondering if she was possibly pregnant – I know she was desperate to try and start a family. My eyes flicked to Ric; who was deep in discussion with his friend; his head propped up on his hand, elbow resting in the table.

"So, now you are a de facto Scots moving up here and all, have you set a date for the wedding?" Alanya flashed me a smile and I bit my lip; shook my head.

"Not really; we talked to the priest last weekend and said we were looking at the end of April, but we have to go and attend some courses on how to be good married people and stuff and he won't arrange a date until we have booked on one of those!" I laughed slightly.

"Hell; that sounds a bit intense. Where you planning on getting married?"

"Um, the Catholic Church in Drumchapel? Not sure of its name. Ric?" I called over, interrupting the boys' conversation. "What's the name of the church; where we want to get married?"

"St Laurence," he said mildly; his attention clearly on the conversation he had been having and not on my question

"You what?" Jim looked up; his gaze skewering me before darting back to his friend. "You planning on getting married in that shed?"

"Yeah," Ric's answer came in his wary tone of voice, one that could rapidly slide into pissed off which – given that it was Jim asking; was more then likely.

"There's no way you can go and get married there, how can you?"

"Why not? It's a church, my Grandmother is in cahoots with the priest and as long as Izzy and I claim to be sorry for having a child out of wedlock and go on a good married couple course, I don't foresee any problems!" Having delivered his usual summary of the details he sat back in his chair, a frown on his forehead.

"And what about when you turn up at the church looking like, like – I don't know – you planning on getting married like that?" He gestured towards his friend's face; the face that, as we were amongst friends was totally unmasked and bare. He had shed the prosthetic with his suit as soon as he had come back from work. I was looking at his profile and saw his jaw hardened, shooting a look at Alanya; wondering if she had caught it.

"If that's what Izzy wants." His tone of voice was low; hard and becoming really pissed off. "And that decision is between us; has nothing to do with you at all."

"You're right it doesn't. But what I am trying to tell you, as your friend and a quarter of your income generator is that you get married in a church in the middle of a housing estate, then you are going to generate a fair bit of interest; weddings always do – especially if there is nothing else to detract from the attention. And..." he added rapidly as Ric opened his mouth to bite back a retort. "Those people standing there might not recognise you, but they could probably identify me; do identify me actually – bit of an arse walking around Edinburgh nowadays – and at a push could probably figure out Sands and Gus. One plus one, plus one is three – which means the fourth must be around somewhere – oh shit; maybe he's the monkey getting married!" Jim raised his hand and his voice rose as he concluded his speech.

"Possibly. Also probably not." The answer was obviously not want Jim wanted to hear, for he slammed his glass of red wine down, the contents splashing onto our new table. I pushed back from my chair and grabbed a napkin; trying to stop it seeping into the wooden surface. My fiancé looked unamused.

"For fucks sack Tom!" Our guest roared; causing us all to stop and look at him – surprised at his choice of name; alarmed at his outburst.

"Calm down James," Alanya stood up from her chair and pushed him back down into his seat with firm but gentle hands. "You don't have to get so worked up; although you do have a point – I happen to agree." She paused, her arms wrapped around her husband's neck from behind where she stood, although her gaze was directed at Richard, who now had a visible glower on his face. "You are trying so hard to keep your private life out of the public eye Ric, and actually succeed – a lot more then Jim or the other boys; so don't go and throw it all away by being your usual stubborn self."

"Well, do you have a better suggestion where Izzy and I should marry then? Glasgow cathedral perhaps?" His voice was sarcastic and angry.

"No mate – I was actually going to suggest the church at the parents if you wanted to. I am sure your priest would perform the ceremony for you; it is a licensed venue and all that shit. And then you can have your nice happy wedding in private." He snarled the last few words. "But go ahead and have it in some damp concrete shed on that council estate you come from – I won't stop you."

I stopped my frantic mopping of the table, paused and averted my stare to my future husband; biting my lip in guilt; aware that it was a very kind and generous offer. Ric was glancing down at his top, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. It was a classic pose of denial and embarrassment and in reflection of Alanya; I placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at me. The smallest of smiles appeared at the corner of his mouth before he flicked his eyes back to the melodrama in front of him.

"That's very kind of you James and aye; Izzy and I would like to take up the offer – if it still stands." He spoke quietly, but with authority and the sound of his voice made us all stop and listen for it demanded attention, attracted people to his presence. No wonder he was such a good performer; the world seemed to turn a little slower around him and you couldn't help but notice the space he occupied if he wanted you to.

"Knew you would bloody well come round to the right way of thinking you obstinate bastard!" Jim shook off Alanya's embrace and stumbled to his feet, swaying slightly – testimony to the amount he had drunk. Ric rose from his chair as well, a supporting arm around his friend – easily and without thinking; had obviously propped his friend up in a less then sober condition a lot.

"Yeah, well – I guess I don't really have a choice when you put it that way. He heaved a sigh and shot me a look in which I could see the humour lurking. "Good thing we haven't had the invites printed yet."

* * *

The wedding party numbered less then seventy in the end, I didn't have much family to invite – Mags and her boyfriend; Anne and a couple of distant cousins who I kept up a polite Christmas card exchange with. Ric purposefully kept his invites to the minimum, focusing much more on friends and family from his background; rather then those made on the road.

Either way nerves still coursed through my body as I sat at my dressing table looking at my face in the mirror. It made no sense to be nervous – today of all days, for I was finally achieving what I had dreamt of; desired and wished for nearly three years. However even though I was happy, the hand that held my glass of champagne shook as there was a tinge of sadness to the day – neither of my parents were going to be there to see me walk down the aisle.

"You nearly ready?" Tatiana's voice interrupted my musings and I looked up at her with a smile; her stylish cream gown clung to her curves, her hair swept up into a chignon.

"Yes – yes I think so." I took one last glance in the mirror, barely recognising the glamorous creature who stared back at me. Alanya had sent her hairdresser and makeup artist to 'transform me' and the person in the mirror was glowing with health and beauty. I hadn't let them put my hair up – I never wore it up and it felt odd to have a formal hair style. Instead they had swept it up at the front, decorated my hair with a fine and dainty tiara and left my hair loose at the back to curl slightly down my shoulders; the colour gleaming deep chestnut brown in the spring sunlight.

My dress was a bit of a bone of contention between Ric and me. Despite having access to (what I realised was) his considerable bank account, I just found myself unable to splash out the obscene amounts of money that wedding dresses seemed to sell for. Only a few months ago, I was scrimping and pinching, making my small allowance cover all my living expense. Spending over a thousand pounds on a dress was a ludicrous move; despite Tatiana's persuasion.

Instead, Alanya came to the rescue, airily producing a fitting of dresses that had been used in a photo shoot by one of her many contacts. I had picked one with the promise to return it and instead had a fantastically beautiful piece of couture for the day. It was hanging up in my deep walk in wardrobe, an item of simplicity from the sleeveless tight corset top to the gentle folds around my hips that narrowed my waist and held in my stomach. The bottom flared out into a decent length train with no embellishment or added adornment. Instead my 'borrowed' item was Richard's grandmother's veil, a delicate silk embroidered affair that draped down my dress, to the floor. It took Tatiana a good ten minutes to lace and button me in before I was ready for to walk downstairs to the small crowd gathered in the living room below.

It was a blur, the photos, the drive to Granthorn and it seemed to be no time at all that I was standing outside the door to the church; the strains of organ music floating through the ancient oak. I took as deep a breath as the dress allowed me, smiled slightly as Tatiana lifted the veil down over my eyes and to the strains of Handel's 'Arrival of the Queen of Sheba' I moved into the doorway and started the walk up the aisle; by myself, no arm to lean on – my whole focus on the man standing at the altar.

He turned slightly, a slight cheeky smile on his unmasked face and if it was possible I beamed even harder. He was dressed in a full formal Scottish dress, from the kilt; down to the Prince Charlie jacket and gillie brogues – quite a sight to behold; especially when a slight wandering of my gaze made me realise that all the band were dressed the same, except for the different tartans of the kilt. Richard and Brian's had more green in it then I had expected, apparently as there were true 'Stewarts' and not just wearing the usual red and black that anyone was allowed to wear. Angus' was a finer checked green and black – his heritage going back to the fact his ancestors were from the Isle of Mull; whilst Sandy wore a check of red, blue and touches of purple. It was all such a far cry from the denim and leather they usually wore, the ripped cloth and cut up clothes that made their stage costumes. I was marrying a man with centuries of heritage behind him.

My wonderings had blanked my mind all the way to the top of the aisle, where a smiling priest awaited us. Richard stood close to me but didn't touch and I realised in a moment of blind panic that I didn't have anyone to lift my veil up, to give me over. And then a slight movement, Angus by my side pulling the net and lace back, atoning a solemn 'Aye' as the priest asked his question and joining my hand with his friend's.

The whole ceremony seemed a blur, even though Richard and I had sat down and chosen the hymns and the readings; it suddenly didn't seem to matter. His uncle's broad accent read out the first lesson; Alanya adding polish by reciting a poem, the priest gave a fine (and not too long) homily. And before I knew it I walked out on my husband's arm, beaming at the small close knit congregation, moving through the deep dark Kirk entrance and out into a Scottish spring day, the sun coming out and beaming over the beautiful rolling countryside of the estate.

Our cheeky daughter wriggled out of Tatiana's grasp and toddled over to us, Ric indulgently scooping her up in his arms as we climbed into the car for the short drive back to the main house. In addition to the church, Lord and Lady Granthorn had kindly allowed us to hold the reception in the ballroom; the whole reception much easier to organise then having to get all the guests to change venue.

It all seemed so strangely formal, to stand next to Ric and greet the stream of guests that had been invited; accepting their congratulations as man and wife as a glass of champagne warmed in my hand and a photographer subtly snapped away. Our formal shots were kept to a minimum, there were no big magazine deals to fulfil for us; this was our wedding and we were trying to keep it small and simple.

Our wedding party pleasantly filled the room, the catering staff provided a beautiful lunch and then as replete as my lacing allowed me to be, I settled back with a smile, my husband's arm pulling me into his side as we listened to Jim's speech. I was slightly surprised that Richard had chosen him over Angus to be the Best Man, but then he had known Jim the longest and his ebullient character would hold the small party together well.

Except there seemed to be some spark missing from the recently married couple, no doubt recalling their own wedding only a year ago, we were only two weeks later then their first anniversary. Surprisingly Jim didn't demand attention with his usual ill-timed laconic observances, but simply thanked everyone properly, complimented me on my choice of husband and read out a few tips on how to keep him happy – the first being to keep him well fed and watered; as if he were a horse and not a man and the last telling me to learn to play the guitar.

The applause and laughter was polite and cheerful as he sat down and my husband rose to his feet, shooting me a private smile as he did. "Well aye, not quite sure what to say after that; except Iz – I think Angus charges a reasonable rate for guitar lessons." The laughter was again a polite giggle and he paused to let it pass. "I need to thank so many people in this room, for so many things ..." He spoke calmly and yet his voice carried without need for amplification; so used to throwing it out to an audience. "And I don't want to keep everyone here whilst I go through the list, so I am going to be very unoriginal and say them all quickly." And he reeled off a list, starting with his Grandparents and moving through to the band mates; the few friends he had made in his musical life before pausing. "But there is one person here who I owe so much to, not least for actually agreeing to marry me, but putting up with," he hefted a big sigh, "a hell of a lot of shit," he paused and looked around wildly. "Um sorry, guys; will try and control that swearing. Anyway, she believed in me for the past few years, supported me and stood by me; gave me a wonderful daughter and has now made me even happier by being my wife." He stopped again and hefted a sigh. "I can't continue without running out of adjectives and making everyone go to sleep; so please excuse me for taking the easy option out and um – I'm gonna' sing how I feel, as that's what I am used to!" He moved out from behind the top table – sat down at the grand piano that was in the corner of the room and started to play. It wasn't a new composition; it wasn't the rock music of Cluinn or 'Light of Day' as I had half suspected. Instead as the simple tune came out the smile on my face widened and he started to sing; the words to an old Burt Bacharach song.

_You see this guy, this guy's in love with you_  
_Yes I'm in love who looks at you the way I do_  
_When you smile I can tell we know each other very_  
_well_

_How can I show you I'm glad I got to know you 'cause_  
_I've heard some talk they say you think I'm fine_  
_This guy's in love and what I'd do to make you mine_  
_Tell me now is it so don't let me be the last to_  
_know_

_My hands are shakin' don't let my heart keep_  
_breaking 'cause_  
_I need your love, I want your love_  
_Say you're in love, in love with this guy, if not_  
_I'll just die_

_Tell me now is it so don't let me be the last to_  
_know_  
_My hands are shakin' don't let my heart keep_  
_breaking 'cause_  
_I need your love, I want your love_  
_Say you're in love, in love with this guy, if not  
I'll just die_

I found myself laughing and crying slightly, as I moved around the table, went and stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

* * *

If our wedding had been understated and simple; it seemed that our honeymoon was due to be the opposite. Having said a private goodbye to our daughter and entrusting her to her Great Grandparents care; Ric and I ran from the house in a shower of confetti; into the dying light of the day, where a luxurious black car was purring in the driveway waiting for us.

Once inside I settled back into the deep seats, glad to be able to take a deep breath now I was out of the beautiful, but over the top dress. I reached for my husband's hand, but drew back in shock as I watched him push a black half mask over his face – something he hadn't worn for a while – only once since we had been back in Scotland. "Trust me Izzy," he said obviously noting my shocked expression in the fading light.

I bit back the retort and nodded, knowing deep down that I could trust him, he wouldn't do anything to break it – there had to be a reason, no doubt connected with where we were going – for he hadn't told me, simply instructed me to pack outfits for warm spring weather and swimming. "Thank you darling." The words were quietly spoken as he took my hand in his, drawing it down into his lap and me with it, pulling me into him as much as the seatbelt would allow. With a hiss he unfastened it and pulled me across further.

"Where are we going?" I ventured, hoping he would finally crack, but he simply shot me a smile.

"You'll see!" He smirked slightly.

The car sped towards the airport and straight around to the private jet that was waiting for us. I had flown on one once before, but it seemed even more amazing this time as just Ric and I boarded, no masses of people, no tired children and load noise. Instead we sat in two huge seats and were served champagne as we waited to take off.

"Is this why?" I nodded towards the mask he had on and he smiled, tinged with a sheepish hint.

"A bit. Courtesy of Devlin Summers – a wedding gift, rather than having to fly commercial." He snorted. "Couple of years ago Easy Jet use to do me just fine, now," he shrugged. "Funny how life changes isn't it. Am I sounding like the spoilt celebrity?"

"Possibly a little bit. But I draw the line at ironing your newspapers," I teased back, feeling the plane shudder beneath us as we moved off towards the runway. "Now are you going to tell me where we are going yet?"

"Nope," was his cheerful reply.

In the end I was so exhausted after the intensity of the day that I barely noticed when we landed, sleeping most of the journey and barely rousing myself to stumble into yet another luxurious car. As we hadn't had to go through the airport, I was still fairly clueless as to our destination, the dark night not revealing any details about the landscape; no helpful flora and fauna, or road signs giving helpful hints. "What's the time?" I asked as the car finally slowed down and the tarmac changed to the crunch of gravel underneath the wheels.

"UK time about eleven, but it is one in the morning here." He looked out the window and let out a sigh of relief. "We're here." I still didn't know where 'here' was and was about to tell him as much when the door to my car was opened with a flourish. I stepped out into a lightly warm night, the coolness of a Scottish spring replaced with the tantalising smell of flowers and the welcoming chirp of cicadas. "Welcome to Greece," Ric said softly taking me in his arms and kissing me soundly."

It was an amazing villa, belonged to a friend he had made in the music industry who used it as a bolt hole. Apparently the Cluinn boys had stayed there one night when they had been on their world tour and he vowed to come back and enjoy it properly – and that we managed to do. From our huge bed that overlooked the most breathtaking view, the infinity pool and the steps down to our own small private beach, it was a magical location. The staff were so subtle as to be invisible, the food magically appearing, our bed being made as we wandered around mostly naked, indulging in the beautiful scenery and each other.

For a week we didn't even leave the house and its grounds, too wound up in each other to need any other diversion. I lost count of the number of places we made love, from around the pool, to the sun lounger – the various bedrooms and even in the kitchen, when the sight of me rooting naked in the fridge proved too much for more randy husband.

But after seven days we decided to break our self-imposed exile; choosing to go out to a local restaurant for a meal. I eased myself from the bed where we had been napping after an afternoon of swimming and making love, glancing over my shoulder at my husband as he lay on his front; the pillow balled under his head; his naked body stretched over the rumpled white sheets. He was fast asleep, a light snore emerging from him as I slipped into the bathroom. Half an hour later, washed and cleaned he hadn't changed position and I sat down on the mattress next to him, placing my hand on his back, smiling at the contrast between my hand and the deep definition of his tan line. The week in the sun had darkened his skin considerably, from almost translucently pale to a deep warm brown. I on the other hand was a slightly lighter golden; annoyed that my husband seemed to soak up the rays more successfully then I did.

"Hmm, Iz; what you doing?" He dopily lifted his head – his eyes; still clouded with sleep looked at me."

"Oh, just it's time to wake up;" I returned the smile he bestowed on me and brushed some hair out of his eyes. "That is if you still want to go out tonight. Costa said he would motor us over to the town in his boat – how cool is that?"

"Hmm – fun." He pushed himself to kneeling and rolled over, pulling me onto his lap, encasing me in his warm body and seeking my lips out for a kiss.

"No, I'm all clean." I playfully pushed him away, watching as he briefly pouted his lips.

"Just a quick one."

"No!" My reprimand was delivered with a smile to remove the sting as I ran a hand down his body; tickling him some more trying to wake him up.

"Iz!" My name came out as a slight giggle and he squirmed away from my touch, twisting backwards so he fell against the mattress once again, lifting me on top of him determined to get his way. It wasn't a very demanding struggle and I laughed slightly as I sunk down.

"You are insatiable!"

"I have a whole year to make up," he smiled as he shifted himself against me, causing me to gasp slightly. I leant over, resting my head on his chest as we moved against each other his hand coming up to brush my hair out of the way, cup my breast and I was momentarily distracted.

"You are really tanned aren't you?" I commented, fascinated in the intensity of the moment by the contrast of our skin tones, my milky white breasts against the darkness of the back of his hand. "It's just that you are so white normally I wouldn't have thought you would tan so well." Below me my husband fell silent, stopped moving and it was his lack of action, rather than his lack of words that made me stop in my musings and look at him, brush his fringe out of his eyes. "Darling?"

He smiled at me, but it was weak and false and I sat up again, felt him slide out of me – the emotion obviously affecting him. He pushed himself up slightly so he could look at me better and I saw the flash of pain in his eyes and blanched. How could a silly conversation about skin colour cause him such angst?

"I think my father was not British, actually Spanish or possibly Italian, maybe even Greek – European at any rate." He spoke softly, shrugging slightly as the words left his mouth.

"What? I just thought – assumed that your Father was one of your Mum's friends – a teenage romance that had gone too far."

"Aye, well most people did, but you know my Grandparents. Mam wasn't your usual promiscuous estate teenager at all; didn't have any boyfriends that Gram knew of. But you know when they were clearing out her house; afterwards," he paused and swallowed. "They found this box of stuff; letters and a couple of photos and a handkerchief. The photos were of my Mother at his dance festival she was at –she was the local Scottish dancing champion and whenever there was an event or a dignitary of any note they use to pull her and the troop out to entertain the audience. I think possibly the entertainment went too far one day.

"What do you mean – not ..." I hesitated to use the word and all the condemnation it held.

"Rape you mean, no – I think she was seduced by the bright lights of it all and someone took advantage of that and it all went too far. Shit, I've had young teenagers try it on with me; they don't actually realise the consequences of their actions and aye – it would be all too easy to let it happen.

"Yeah, but you don't!"

"No; but that is called have a moral conscience – not everyone does; plenty of men don't at all." He sighed. "I think my Mother had some sort of crush on him; that if it is the guy in the photo; older, looked quite wealthy and he probably promised her everything to get into her knickers – et voila nine months later I am on the scene and foreign chap is long gone with nothing more than a satisfied smile." He heaved a sigh. "And that means I have some Mediterranean blood in me, I tan easily – although living in Scotland you don't see the sun that much. I was always the darkest boy on the estates in the summer and when I was at school they use to call me tease me about it, I went so brown." I hesitated, not sure how I should continue my line of questioning, always unsure about how much I could push Ric; not wanting to reawaken the pain for him.

"Do you still have those photos, at home I mean?" He leant over and laced his fingers with mine.

"Yes Mrs Stewart I do and when we are home you can see them, but for now; let's finish what we started, aye?" I nodded in agreement and he once again pulled me towards him. Needless to say we didn't make it out to dinner that night.

* * *

**Lyrics are: This Guy's in Love with You by Burt Bacharach.**


	6. The Strong Arm of the Law

**Sorry about the hugely long time it took to write this one. I keep thinking okay; I have finished this story and then another angle pops into my head. Unfortunatly inspiration deserts me almost as quickly and this has been sitting half written for a while now. Hopefully the next bit won't take so long.**

He was still on a high when he walked into the offices of the practice on the Monday morning. He and Izzy had snuck home on the Sunday and spent the day in bed; enjoyed having some privacy away from their daughter – being adults again. He had almost forgotten the energy he got from performing; the high that filled his body with a buzz better then any drug he had ever tried. And Izzy picked up on it as well; shedding the stresses of her job and degree course and instead joining in as he suggested something of a marathon of love making around the house – usually impossible given Lara's presence.

He blasted the music out all the way to the offices, listening to some of his fellow artists he had shared the stage with that day, singing along, whistling the chorus to 'Light of Day' as he walked down the street and even humming their latest tune under his breath as he walked through the plate glass door and into the hushed and sober environment of the chambers.

It was as if the buzz was swallowed up in a second, the music falling as silence from his lips leaving them with nothing more then a grim smile as he raised his hand in greeting to their long suffering receptionist and checked his pigeon hole for the work he had to complete. He had nearly finished his tenure; originally his leaving date was set for before T in the Park as he didn't want his two lives clashing and now he seriously had to start thinking music again or their plans for a third album would be held up and he had signed a promise to deliver music by the end of September – already mutterings were happening about an early December album and a tour in January.

Up until now he had been able to ignore that commitment; December was a long way away and he had enjoyed returning to his old work and complete his training – it was like ticking the last few boxes; tidying things up. He would probably never continue his training into Advocacy, but at least he could officially practice as a solicitor and given the current house buying trend among his friends, they alone could keep him in business for a few months.

But the exams had been delayed; the results even longer to be released and he found himself having to sit them only a couple of days before T, when he should have been having a run through with Sandy, Jim and Angus; not having played together since before Christmas. Their three solid days of rehearsals turned into a few rushed hours the weekend before; crammed in between his frantic studying – it reminded him of the old days before they could make any claims to fame.

"Hey Richard," the cheery male voice made him glance up and he flashed a grin at a younger colleague who like himself was in training; noting that he still wore the frayed wrist band from the weekend festival. There was a core of ten of them who were in the no man's land between being students and qualified solicitors, Ric the most experienced and eldest, down to a couple of green around the ears students; fresh out of their English universities . Ric turned his attention back towards the mail in his cubby hole noting with a grimace that the work was still flowing thick and strong – even if his enthusiasm wasn't anymore.

"Ah Richard, a word if you please." The erudite and plumy voice of the practice owner; his boss, made him look up with a start and he nodded in reply, gathering the paperwork under his arm and quickly moving into Sir Robert's office across the hall, sitting down in front of the huge desk. He wasn't sure why he had been singled out – didn't think the exam results were in, but all the same butterflies started tumbling in his stomach and he found himself biting his lip in imitation of his wife.

"Good weekend?" The question made him glance up, a frown forming on his forehead; unsure if Sir Robert knew what he had been doing – he didn't strike Ric as the sort of person to choose to spend his time at a muddy festival listening to varying degrees of music all played at huge noise levels.

"Um yes- thank you," he replied weakly, sure it wasn't a conversation opener.

"My youngest son went, came home last night with a mass of mud and dirty clothes, raving about how fantastic the bands were." Ric found his lips involuntarily twitching into a smile. Of course Sir Robert was aware of his other job; what he did with his life when not studying – in fact had been very reluctant to let Richard in to finish his training; sure that he would be unable to commit properly. He had kept a very close eye on him the past half a year, almost as if he were waiting for his former protégée to slip up.

"Well, it seemed to go well, well organised." He volunteered, not sure what his boss wanted him to say or do. They were both aware that he was simply treading water; waiting for his exam results. He inhaled deeply and let his gaze rest on the man opposite who sat there impassively looking at him. "Um, we had a good time there." He added weakly.

"Good enough to want to do that all the time?" Richard didn't think it was really a question, even though it posed as one.

"Well, aye – that is my career currently, as explained; but it doesn't mean it will be like that forever – the public is fickle and whilst I enjoy what I am doing and making a living out of it, the chances are slim that it will last. I want to have another career; one that I enjoy equally." He glanced over at his stoic boss, hoping that his truthful explanation helped.

"Are you hoping to do conveyancing law; solicitation; criminal – what do you see the future as now Richard? A few years ago you were determined the path forward was criminal law; you were set on advocacy. I don't hear or see you spouting forth quite so much on that. Would you rather have a cosy little career drawing up boundary lines and settling wills?

"Well," Richard shrugged. "Life changes aye; when you have a family and children suddenly the thought of spending hours away from home; immersed in cases that can make you sick to the stomach with the sheer evil of the crimes... Honestly, a tidy little desk with a few boundary disputes can seem quite appealing." He inhaled again. "I am only thirty Sir Robert. Even if I have a music career for another ten years; I can always continue to study, work in a firm – I just want to make sure I have the relevant qualifications now; not throw away all the hard work I have already put in. I am aware I cannot really commit." He clenched his fingers together; trying to get across his unusual situation make the older man opposite him at least sympathise with his unusual position if not understand it.

"What if I was to offer you a partnership?" Richard blinked at the words, not sure if he heard them correctly.

"Pardon, did you say a partnership? I don't think that's..." he trailed off at a loss for words, not sure where the conversation was leading.

"Aye Richard; a partnership to this law firm; make you the youngest to ever have gained such an offer in its four hundred year history. Your exam results are back; you passed with ninety-seven percent; the highest mark ever and nominated for the Queen's award for Up and Coming Lawyer of the year." He paused as if letting his words sink in. "And so you are at a juxtaposition because the legal world is your oyster; you could be employed by anyone you want; anywhere. Continue on your music path and you will be sitting at a cheap desk working out litigation in ten years time." His stony gaze met Richard's and he felt himself gulp; the tremor settling through his body. Why did life have to be so damn complicated?

"I don't suppose there are too many winners of both that and a Brit award?" he quipped with nervous humour, it fell on deaf ears.

"The results are officially announced until tomorrow and so I give you that long to make your decision; until then keep your head down and continue with whatever you were doing understand?"

Richard nodded; slightly dazed with the news; his heart sinking at the same time a swell of pride puffed up through his chest. Ninety-seven percent; shit he couldn't believe he managed to score such a mark! "Thank you Sir Richard," he managed to choke out, before rising from the chair in front of the imposing desk and stumbling out of the room. The news dazed him; more then any of his recent achievements; for then there had been a degree of expectation – the Brit had been a nice surprise; but then they had forewarning after the huge popularity of their first album; the stellar sales from their two albums had been indicated by sold out concerts. But the exam results – shit; whilst he had crammed for it, studying late into the night and the early hours of the morning, putting his music aside in favour of his books he hadn't gone into the exam with confidence, his whole tenancy at the chambers felt something of a stay of execution – he had seriously not expected to once again be thrust into the torturous decision between music and the law.

He wasn't concentrating as he left his manager's office; his eyes not on the bustling workplace around him, but focused on the wall; his thoughts far away with the offer that had been made. He was not paying attention as he walked past the door to the small kitchen or when the door swung open and his colleague Jack came through balancing a tray of hot tea and coffee in his hands.

He cried out as they collided; the heat of freshly percolated coffee splashing down his front and seeping through his shirt; his skin pricking with the warmth. "Shit!" the cry fell involuntarily from his lips as he bent forward in an attempt to keep the cotton from touching his skin; feeling it soak through the thin fabric of his trousers as well.

"Oh shit," his colleague replied, both of them momentarily forgetting where they were! "God Richard, I'm really sorry man." He glanced around wildly, placing the tray with the half filled cups on a side table. "Can I do..." He trailed off, looking around at the situation; as Ric clawed at his tie with one hand, trying to undo the knot.

He dug into his trouser pocket, ignoring the damp warmth of the hot drink that had been soaked up in the expensive wool. "Here's my car keys – it's just parked up the road; the black Audi SH10RIS. There's a bag in the back – can you grab that for me – I need to get this shirt off – ow shit!" The skin on his chest was sore; a bit like sunburn he guessed; not that it was something he every really suffered from. He pushed the keys at his colleague and ran into the bathroom; stripping off his jacket and loosened tie, pulling the shirt from his trousers and unbuttoning the front, grabbing a stack of hand towels and wetting them; letting the cool water press against his hot skin; ease the throbbing slightly. He could probably do with some of the cooling cream that Izzy used on Lara's bottom; he thought as he looked in the mirror at his skin; the light golden colour; remnants of his honeymoon tan being replaced by a flushed pinky red as the heat was soaked up by his skin.

The shirt was ruined! A dark brown stain spread across the front. It had also caught the front of his trousers, but he hoped a decent dry clean would remove it. He gave a sigh – hell this day was becoming complicated. He leant forward against the mirror, enjoying the cool glass against his exposed forehead; realising as he pulled away that he had left a slight smear of foundation against the glass where he had blended the edge of the prosthetic into his skin. He rubbed it away with his cuff; hell the shirt was ruined already; makeup would hardly make a difference; he thought running a hand through his hair so it stood out wildly from his head, rather then the neat style he had come to work with.

"Hey Richard," he swung round, catching sight of his colleague in the mirror as he came through the bathroom door; a sheepish smile on a face flushed with embarrassment and Richard's backpack clutched in his hand.

"Thanks man." He grabbed the bag with relief; a slight nod and smile; ignoring the fact that his shirt flapped open; falling off his shoulders and exposing the top of his arms and pink chest. With no more words he moved to the cubicle in the corner and stripped off his suit; changed into the clothes he had bought for the evening; clean stuff grabbed in haste from the wash basket that morning however and knew that the ragged jeans and faded t-shirt was not suitable for the office – a point that would be raised and could even cause him trouble.

He was surprised to see Jack still standing there as he exited; his expensive suit stuffed into the small backpack. "Listen, I'm gonna' go and stick this in for an hour's dryclean and um grab a drink; would you cover for me; say I've gone to the library to look at some archives?"

"Sure;" his friend replied with a slight smile before he inhaled deeply. "Tell you what can I skive off and join you? We could maybe work on the Travers versus McKingley case; then they can't have a go at us."

Inwardly Richard groaned; he had hoped he could look at some music; forget about the law and all the questions in his head for an hour; but then he didn't want Jack to think he was pissed off with what had been an accident; liability was a fifty-fifty split in that case without a doubt. "Okay; just hang on ten minutes would you. I'll meet you in Starbucks in the Mile."

"Yeah sure good. See yu in a bit." Ric swung out the door but paused slightly as he heard his colleague speak a word. Phantom; his stage name echoed in his ears and he swung around with a confused look the door nearly knocking him in the face as he pushed it open again and glanced at Jack.

"Did you say something else?" he questioned; trying to keep suspicion from his tone; after all he wasn't sure if he heard the word or not.

"No!" The man raked him a look of confusion; a slight smile – the sort you gave people to be humoured; lingered in the corner of his mouth. "See you in ten then." Ric nodded again and slid out the building with a firm glance at the shut door of Sir Robert; and a flash of a grin to the receptionist.

His colleague was waiting for him by the time he had dropped off the suit, arguing with the cleaners about the possibility of the stain being lifted as quickly as he was demanding and strode the short distance to the coffee shop. He sat in the back around one of the tables; its surface covered with files and paper; an open laptop; the coffee in their cups pushed to the edge – once again in danger of spilling their contents.

Richard snagged his up as he past; dropping into the small hard chair and dumping his almost empty bag on the floor; the thump as it hit the ground forcing Jack to look up. "Hey, did you get it checked in; can they get it clean?"

He grunted in reply. "Needed a bit of persuasion; but yeah; should be okay; although they said the longer I can wait the better. I've given them an extra twenty minutes, but I don't think can blag being out any longer. You know; Sir Robert is watching me."

"Did you get your arse hauled in their earlier then?" Richard shrugged; unable and unwilling to share the news that had been imparted behind closed doors. "It wasn't the options talk was it? I got that last week!" Jack's smile was welcoming and friendly and Ric found himself smiling; letting his colleague draw his own conclusions – he couldn't tell him that Sir Robert wanted his student to jack in his career as a platinum selling rock singer and take up as a partner of the law firm; for starters he doubted he would be believed.

"Something like that. However, let's see if we can make any headway in this case. I was looking at it the other day and basically she is taking him to the cleaners because..." he hesitated and grabbed the file off the desk, looking for the relevant quote; unsuccessfully.

"Because she is a bitch and wants everything," came the response over the table; accompanied by a snort of laughter.

"Don't think we can put that in the brief." Ric responded with a sigh and a swig of his drink.

They talked and discussed the case for over an hour; preparing the brief for the advocate so it could be presented to the courts; their drinks going cold beside them as they debated the case. Jack sat back stretching a smile on his face as he save the document on his laptop; shutting it down. "Shit Ric; you have got one hell of a good argument in you – ever considered devilling and becoming an advocate; rather then doing all the donkey work?"

Ric jerked backed at the innocent comment as he gathered up the paperwork; putting it back into the file; concentrating on the task in hand and not on the face opposite. "Yeah, well did really want to at one stage; went down to London and took a specialist course as I wanted to get involved in family law and just; I don't, other things took over. Guess that's why I'm back here now; just trying to tie up loose ends and get my full practicing certificate. At least then I can set up on my own or be a worthwhile employee."

"Music making getting in the way is it?" Richard looked up at the comment; his mouth dropping open as he started agog at the face opposite him.

"What?" he finally asked faintly.

"I said; is the music getting in the way; keeping you busy?"

"What music? I never did music law." Ric asked the questions warily; not sure if Jack was privy to some information that he wasn't aware of; or if he was just digging – using good old advocated tricks to get the truth out of someone. The bland smile didn't fade from his colleague's face.

"Look Richard; I haven't said anything because you haven't said anything – guess you don't want to make it public knowledge, but I figured it out – you are not just transferring from the music industry are you? You are actually in a band. And not just any band; you are part of Cluinn aren't you? You're Phantom?" Ric gulped; feeling the tremor pass through his body before fixing the face opposite with a stare.

"Can you present your evidence to the court?" The humour sounded flat coming out of his mouth, but it made Jack smile.

"I was down at Glastonbury two years ago;" he obliged. "That was when I first heard Cluinn; like many people I guess and yeah decided I liked them and then 'Light of Day' was played everywhere that Christmas." He paused, fixing Richard with a firm stare and a smile playing around his mouth. Ric blanked him back and motioned for him to continue. "And then I was also there at the Glasgow concert last year; which was really cool and both times your wife was up on stage singing. Of course I didn't realise who she was until you plonked a photo on your desk when you started and said you were getting married in May."

"Not exactly conclusive evidence is it," Ric interjected swiftly. "I can call a lot of it into reasonable doubt. I mean my wife sung with a band – doesn't mean that I do as well; it was her past before she settled down into married life – a favour for her mates when they were short of a voice."

"Yeah and if you were five foot two and blonde then I wouldn't even consider it; but let's face it you are the same height as Phantom; same hair colour and okay you don't cover your face – but you sound similar and move in a similar manner – that sort of thing."

"Still not conclusive though!" He raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't win your case on that evidence. Anything else?" Jack laughed out loud; the noise causing Richard to grin.

"See you could be an Advocate. Okay; second thing is your immersion in music. You change your ring tone a lot. You are often humming; Cluinn songs and others a fair bit. When you are lost in something you often figure out chords in your head; you've even written them on the edge of your notes before – I saw them a few weeks ago."

"I worked in the music industry, takes a while to get out of your system."

"And lastly; well you flashed your chest at me in the loos mate; you have Phantom's tattoos!" Ric sighed and sucked his lip; damn it the man was right; he hadn't even considered it, just wanted to get the wet shirt off. "And if you really want a final reason; I saw an interview with Phantom backstage at the weekend and he was wearing exactly the same t-shirt as you are now; right down to the rip in the sleeve." Ric glanced down at his clothes; realising in shock that yes – he had appeared on television in the t-shirt. They had door-stepped him and Gus when there were sitting on the stoop of the bus soaking up some rays; not really expecting too much attention. He twisted his mouth at the thought.

"Anything else?"

Jack's grin widened. "When I called you Phantom in the loo just now you responded; so you are obviously used to answering to the name. So considering my evidence, how do you find the defendant?"

"Guilty." Ric spoke the words softly before pausing. "Maybe you should be the one thinking about a career in advocacy; that was a well structured argument." He sat back in his chair and stared at Jack; wondering if this was the end of their friendship; if the colleague he had spent the past six months with would change his behaviour. Fans tended to fall into two groups; either they were the maniacal; obsessive variety with a host of annoying behaviour from the general screaming; fainting; clawing of person and stealing of personal goods; against the quiet sort who could barely get a word out either stunned into silence; or seemingly aloof as they were often too nervous to talk properly. There were few who filled the gap in between and were easy good and simple to be with; who could almost be friends if not for the situation. All of a sudden the man opposite him had to be placed into one of the categories. It annoyed him because up until now he was tentatively thinking of Jack as a friend and not a fan; didn't want to relegate him. "And now what?"

"Well you had better pick up your suit; guess I should go back to chambers and pretend that we haven't been missing for over an hour and then we had better schedule a meeting with Pennyforth and instruct him to take the case – I cannot find anymore arguments; can you?"

Ric paused a moment; his mouth slightly open; surprised. He had expected the next request to be for an autograph; questions about T; his lifestyle; not the calm summary of the day ahead. "Yeah"; he found himself agreeing. He didn't say anything else until they turned to go their separate ways on the bustling pavement of the Royal Mile. "Um Jack," he paused his friend with a raise of his hand.

"Aye?"

"Don't tell anyone; the conclusions of…"he trailed off; not wanting to mention it.

"I won't; nay worry. If you wanted people to know you wouldn't go to such lengths to keep up your privacy would you." He flashed Ric a smile. "See you back at the office!"

* * *

"Hey Ric – you okay?" He started at the words and looked around him; felt the weight of the guitar over his shoulder; hanging down in front of his body. The room looked as normal – cables snaking all over the floor; the late evening sunshine highlighting the dust that was in plumes around the room. The usual flight cases were stacked in one corner, their guitars propped against the sofa and walls. It was a chaotic mess that made sense to all of them in the band. A glance around saw Gus staring at him; his brow gathered in a frown of concern.

"What – yeah; sure!" He wiped his forehead and picked the guitar up again. "Shall we go from the top?"

"No Ric; seriously – that will be the fourth time; s'not like you to "need so many takes. Come on – what's on your mind?" The stare that pierced him was laser sharp and he huffed under its scrutiny. There was no escaping Angus when he was in his psychoanalytical frame of mind.

"Nothing that important." He pulled the guitar off, suddenly finding the heaviness too much; uncomfortable and balanced it precariously against a speaker before stepping over a snake of cables and falling back into the dusty sofa. He was aware of not only the bass guitarists unflinching gaze; but Sandy sitting at his drums; his hands busy as always twiddling his sticks; but his blue gaze skewering him as he sat there. "Okay – today I was offered a partnership at the law firm I was working at – make me the youngest ever in the million year history of the company." From across the room came the sound of the drummer's snort.

"You're kidding us aren't you?"

"No; my exceedingly charming, erudite; stuck in the past Director offered me the post this morning and gave me twenty-four hours to make my mind up." He hefted a sigh.

"And yu said; 'Sorry mate; see I head up a band and we are working on our third album. I was just passing some time by coming back here' – didn't you Ric?" Sandy paraphrased for him. He let out a weak smile in way of an apology. "Oh shit; no you didn't – you said you would think about it! Bloody hell Richard!"

"Sands, calm down." Angus pulled his bass off and walked over to the sofa; joining him on the dusty cushions. "Eating you up is it? You were always crap when it came to difficult life changing decisions." Ric laughed slightly at the rude words and pushed his hands through his short locks.

"He knows what I do; his son was at T, so it's not like he isn't aware of it. Just thinks it is a waste of time that's all. And you know, the way he paraphrased it, for a moment I did think 'what the fuck am I doing'?" He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence because Sandy interrupted again.

"You are writing bloody good music; you; no we, are getting to play that music almost every night and what's more we are winning awards for that music and we are all loving it. You don't seriously want to lock yourself in a dusty law chamber. Of course there will always be people that don't understand; remember that journalist who reviewed our first album and called it 'meaningless noise'?"

Ric laughed; remembering the negative review that had punched them all down; castigating their efforts. Yeah; Sandy was right there would always be people like Sir Robert out there; who thought anything except a sensible; sober white collar job was worthless. "You're right Sands; bloody and annoyingly right." He sighed. "You know a colleague of mine ferreted the truth out today; presented me with the evidence that I was Phantom."

"Yeah, well it's hardly like a state secret is it?" Gus replied stretching. "I mean we all know and um; Izzy and Laney know and – who else?" He frowned and grabbed his phone. "Do you know I have never ever searched this question. "What is Phantom's real name?" He spoke the words as he typed them onto the screen, paused as the results came up. "Ah-ha, see the answers. _ Phantom is the lead singer of the award winning rock band Cluinn. His real name is Thomas; educated at Edinburgh University…_ Thanks Wikipedia; wonderfully inaccurate; what about this one? Your name is apparently Thomas McClough – gosh I never knew that; who's he?"

"Oh, I think he was on my music degree course. No idea what happened to him – either he is going around pretending to be Phantom; or someone is mismatching information. What else is said?"

Gus scrolled further down on his phone. "Oh here you go; someone with a bit more of an insight. "Rumour has it, that Phantom's name is Richard McKenzie!" Gus turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a look of shock on his face. "God; I totally forgot that you used to be called that!"

Ric ground his jaw together and closed his eyes; letting a snort of disgust and hate out through his nose. "One of my Mother's less wonderful ideas. She insisted when she married the bastard that we could be one happy family; that we will all live this lovely utopian life together. I stayed in that house two weeks before I moved back to my Grandparent's. Unfortunately it was a bit harder to change my surname back; wasn't able to do it until I turned eighteen and was already registered at uni. I guess that is what is blocking most people from making a connection between me and Phantom – so I guess I have something to thank the bastard for after all." His voice was bitter and he sat on his hands to stop them shaking; the anger and hatred coursing through him after all these years.

"He wrote to me you know; some bullshit about sorry for what he has done and can we talk; can I forgive him?"

"What did you do with the letter?" Sandy's voice was subdued from across the room.

"Burnt it! He sent the letter to the record label and it got passed on – I guess he used the right name and all. I never want to hear or see him again." He stood up; realising in a moment of clarity that it was the music that was his freedom and escape. To pursue the law root was to keep dredging up the past; to remind himself of the pain that he tried to move away from. "Come on; let's play!" He picked up his guitar and ran his fingers over the strings. He knew he couldn't fool himself anymore - music was the way.


End file.
